


Balance on the knife edge

by liv_k



Series: Balance on the Knife Edge [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Fix-It of Sorts, Fusion of Star Wars Legends and Disney Canon, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-10 09:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 127,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13498908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liv_k/pseuds/liv_k
Summary: Reborn to the Light on Mortis, Ahsoka Tano dies in the Darkness of Malachor, in a desperate attempt to bring back Anakin Skywalker from the shadow of Darth Vader. But the Light has once saved her for a reason, and she wakes up again on Mortis, seventeen years in the past. The weight of the Galaxy's destiny seems to rest on her shoulders and the plans of the Sith are already in motion: the Clone Wars are raging, the Force is shrouded in darkness and time is running out. Moreover, she has no idea of what happened after she left the Order and why Anakin fell. She only knows that he is the Chosen One and that, even if she can't save the Galaxy, she can at least try to save him.





	1. At the end of Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> This story was started before the release of Star Wars Rebels S04E13 "A world between worlds", so it has to be considered an AU after the episodes "Twilight of the Apprentice"; where I could, I made some minor adjustments for continuity sake.
> 
> English is not my native language. I checked and double-checked but I know there can be some mistakes. Please feel free to point them out, it would be greatly appreciated, and concrit is really welcome, even here in the comments. :)  
> If you wish to discuss in private anything regarding this story or Star Wars in general (and also regarding the **MCD warning** : a few people asked me to disclose details, and this is something I'm not going to do here in public but I'm more than willing to do in private, I don't want to trigger anyone), feel free to PM me on ff.net [(my profile)](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/10126081/livke) or on tumblr at [The Dune Sea](https://livk-dunesea.tumblr.com), I love hearing from you!
> 
>  **Trigger warnings** : brief reference to suicidal thoughts in chapter 4.  
> Loads of (not too graphic) canon-typical violence and dark stuff, including torture, slaughter, dead younglings, removal of limbs, mind control and all the happy SW stuff we all love; I'm not going to specifically tag anything that is already included in canon.  
> As stated above, feel free to contact me for additional details.  
> 

“Perhaps I was wrong.”

The echo of the mechanical voice ricocheted off the pillars across the floor, ominous in the in the vast, silent hall under the summit of the pyramid.

Not even Grievous’s vocalizator had ever been able to produce a voice so sickening and inhuman. That creature had been a malevolent and homicidal monster, a foul thing, but nothing a trained Jedi couldn’t deal with. Nothing any warrior couldn’t deal with, actually; only his artificially enhanced combat skills had made him a real threat, but in the end even he had succumbed to superior cunning and training.

 _This_ monster, though, was another thing entirely.

There he was – he, or _it_? – towering over the terrified child, his arms raised, ready to deal the fatal blow with his crimson blade, a ghastly vision born from the most horrific nightmare.

As a trained Force Sensitive, Ahsoka Tano was able to sense the Force swirling frantically around him as he mustered it, possessed by the desire to dominate it and impose his own will over that of the Force itself. Fear, anger, hate oozed from his figure in a miasma of terror. She could taste it, foul in her mouth.

His rage soared in red flashes around a black well of agony; at the end of the well, there was noting but void. It was impossible to believe that this thing had once been a man.

What could make anyone sink this deep?

A single question was raging in Ahsoka's mind. Could… could _he_ have sunk this deep, consciously rejecting everything he’d ever been, everything he’d ever believed in and fought for?

As much as she craved to know the identity of the person behind the mask, Ahsoka knew that the dread that came with the anticipation was too dangerous to be let free to roam. After her vision in the now lost temple on Lothal she had not been able to think about anything else but her former Master's fate. Now, faced with the embodiment of her deepest fear, she wanted nothing more than to open herself to the Force and extend her senses along her most cherished bond, the bond that had snapped close long years ago, on that dreadful night when her Master had been lost to her, the night when the overwhelming flood of emotions and boiling love that had been Anakin Skywalker had abruptly disappeared into the void, leaving her alone in a galaxy suddenly turned too dark to bear.

Now Ahsoka feared what she would find at the severed end of that bond: she dreaded to find there, looming in the darkness, the presence she had felt in that TIE Advanced when she and Kanan had stretched their senses to reach to the imperial pilot who was decimating their fleet: the fear, the anger, the hate, a presence they had not felt _since the Clone Wars_. She wanted to know, she needed to know, but she knew she could not allow herself to pursue her wish, not now, not with so much at stake. The risk of being overwhelmed by her own emotions, by her own fear, anger and hate was just too real and would put in jeopardy not only her but also those whose lives depended on her; she could not afford it.

Letting go of her fear, she exhaled and let her Jedi training flew inside her, enfolding her in its protective shields. She was a Jedi no more, she had found her own way, but she had retained what, of her previous life, could help her survive in her lonely fight. Calm and focused, she stepped forward.

The time had come to let him know she was there.

“It wouldn’t be the first time”, she proclaimed, fiery defiance burning in her voice.

Darth Vader froze, his arms still raised for the killing blow.

Slowly, the caped figure turned towards her, the polished surface of the optical lenses in his helmet helmet ghastly reflecting the red light of the temple, a mock imitation of crimson Sith eyes. Eyes and lenses met, and Ahsoka felt a surge of black dread taking her breath away, a dark energy like nothing she had ever felt before.

She still remembered the feeling of Dooku’s dark presence on Tatooine, when Anakin had engaged him to give her enough time to bring little Stinky to safety. She remembered how, as the Twilight descended into Tatooine’s atmosphere, the warmth of the Force had suddenly grown cold and how everything had suddenly felt tainted, touched by a malevolent presence of evil.

But not even Dooku’s dark presence had been even remotely close to this.

This was worse than death itself.

To feel the Force around her required all her focus. Everything around Vader was a perversion of the Force, enacted by a will strengthened by unending despair.

It was unbearable, but she knew she had to face him, face him and, in time, the truth behind the mask.

Trying to overcome the chill, the darkness, she forced herself to remember her training, Anakin’s training.

_There is no death, there is the Force._

This part of the Jedi Code still rang true, even after all this time.

Anakin’s voice echoed in her mind, a memory from all those years ago, from that horrific mission on Onderon.

_Ahsoka, remember what I told you about staying focused. Always put purpose ahead of your feelings._

It was an anchor in a storming sea and she clung to it, fighting to stay afloat over the raging waves of darkness.

Her shields were up again, strong and unyielding, built with the force of her fondest memories. The _Force_ of her fondest memories.

The darkness receded. She was a pillar of light, untouched by the horrors of Malachor.

The pillar of shadows that was Darth Vader was now facing her, the frightened, brave Ezra at last forgotten.

“It was foretold that you would be here. Our long-awaited meeting has come at last.”

Ghastly, the mechanic voice filled the Sith temple.

A part of her, the most stubborn part, searched the sound for a echo of her Master’s voice.

She wanted, needed to know, yet she could not risk losing her strength. She had to get Vader away from the holocron, she needed to buy time for Ezra and Kanan to fetch it and run. If that meant giving upe her life, she was more than ready to sacrifice it. Her life in trade for a spark of hope for the galaxy, one couldn’t even call it a sacrifice.

To allow them to escape, that was her priority. Then, she would find a way to know the truth. 

Another surge of love blossomed in her heart as a mischievous smile that sparkled in two caring and amused green-blue eyes resurfaced from her memories. Master Kenobi, bickering with the enemy before a fight to postpone the confrontation until reinforcements arrived. Just as she had to do now, taunt the Sith lord to buy time for her friends.

“I’m glad I gave you something to look forward to.”

She vaguely wondered if Master Kenobi would have been proud of her: her voice had been almost steady, but stained by a bitter edge. Anyway, she didn’t need the impudence of the infamous Negotiator: it was not like she was going to sign a treaty with the Sith anyway. She was just delaying the inevitable.

With a hiss, Vader’s crimson blade disappeared.

It had worked, apparently. After all, she was Kenobi’s grandpadawan.

“We need not be enemies”, the Sith lord said, apparently trying – and failing – to look less menacing. “The Emperor will show you mercy if you tell me where the remaining Jedi can be found.”

Anger now surged in her blood. Remaining Jedi? Two Padawans and a child, and they were right in front of him.

“There are no Jedi. You and your Inquisitors have seen to that.”

The contempt in her voice could pierce the air.

But now there was a glimpse of hope. Maybe he really knew about other surviving Jedi. But who?

Yoda?

Admittedly, after the vision that had visited her and Ezra on Lothal, she strongly suspected that Yoda was still alive, waiting for the turn of the tide to come back from whichever mists of the Force were concealing him. With his wisdom, he may have survived the ordeal of Order 66 and have been strong enough to let Sidious unleash his evil on the galaxy, renouncing to rush to the attack but waiting in the shadows until the moment when true peace and justice could be restored. But she could not afford to think about him, not there in front of Vader.

Obi-Wan?

No, that was not possible either. Bail had told her that he had died fighting a Sith Lord on Mustafar after having rerouted the Jedi beacon. Moreover, Obi-Wan Kenobi would have never stood by and let this all happen without a fight, not in this galaxy. He and his ferocious, righteous sense of justice… He could not have lived through this horror, he was not Master Yoda. Kenobi was a man of action, he would have been part of the rebellion. General Kenobi, the Aggressive Negotiator, a flaming blue light bringing hope to the galaxy. Obi-Wan was dead, most likely at the hands of Vader himself. How many other Sith Lords could there be, after all?

For less than a second, she dared to hope, truly hope. If he intended to use her as a tool to find another Jedi, maybe it could be…

No. No, Anakin was dead. On that fateful night, across half the galaxy she had felt his feelings: wrath, outraged sense of betrayal and the deepest pain... an explosion of darkness... and then only silence.

Nothing more, ever. Anakin was dead.

And anyway, better dead than… but no, she couldn’t afford following her thoughts to their conclusions.

“Perhaps this child will confess what you will not.”

The mechanical voice brought her back to reality, and to contempt and relief.

Contempt, for the vileness of this monster. Relief, because now she could really hope that her fears had been unfounded.

If she were to find a word to describe Anakin Skywalker, compassion would be the word. The former slave boy would never, _never_ threat to harm a defenseless child. 

Not in this word, not in another.

Never.

Relief, waves of relief flooded her heart.

Vader was not Anakin. Anakin could  _never_ have become Vader.

How could she had even remotely thought that he could have?

“I was beginning to believe I knew who you were behind that mask, but it's impossible. My master could never be as vile as you.”

There was righteous purpose in her words, yet it felt to her like her voice was more similar to that of her younger self than it ever had been in the recent years. There was too much sorrow. Too many memories. Too much pain.

But now she was ready to fight and try to destroy this monster once and for all.

_Do or do not. There is no try._

Now it was Yoda’s voice, resonating in her memories. He was right. She would put an end to this. And if she failed, she would die knowing that she had done her best, not only tried to.

Oh, what would she give to know that Master Yoda was alive.

“Anakin Skywalker was weak. I destroyed him.”

The utter, definitive sense of loss crashed over her.

She closed her eyes.

He was dead. Gone. Forever.

And then, together with the raising grief, an awful knowledge dawned on her.

She had almost wished that Darth Vader was Anakin. She had loved her Master so much that she’d almost wished it was him. She felt so ashamed, she did not deserve to have had him as her Master. He would have killed himself before he turned to the Dark Side.

She had almost wished it was him because, if it were, she could still have hoped to turn him back and have him again by her side. She couldn’t hope to bring him back from the dead.

She felt once again the rush of unspeakable agony that had been the last glimpse of her Master through their bond.

Now she knew how he had died, slain by this foul cyborg. What could this monster have done to Anakin to cause him such agony?

Anakin must have seen the 501st turning on him, he must have witnessed the slaughter in the Temple.

He must have realised that Palpatine had been behind everything.

He must have been the last one standing among the dead Jedi.

She felt again the deep shame of her desertion. Why, why had she decided to go, leaving him alone against the Sith? They should have died together, Master and Apprentice, side by side, one protecting the other.

She had abandoned him then, and now she had just betrayed his memory once again, being so selfish as to hope it was him.

There was only one thing she could do for him now, for her dear Master, her big brother, her beloved Anakin.

Her eyes snapped open.

“Then I will avenge his death.”

Even as she spoke, she felt the light shining through her, stronger than ever, notwithstanding the venom in her voice. She sought revenge, but without malice. She sought revenge _and_ justice _._

She hated Vader because she had loved Anakin.

The two feelings balanced each other.

She was deeply rooted in the Force.

“Revenge is not the Jedi way.”

Oh, how it hurt, the mockery in the monster’s voice. He didn’t know, he couldn’t know that Anakin had once uttered those same words.

But there was no foolish sense of self-imposed guilt to restrain her now.

She gritted her teeth, her battle stance ready, her hilts in her hands in a regular grip, like Anakin had always wanted her to fight. No reverse grip this time, she would avenge him properly, as he had taught her.

This was the fight of her life.

For Obi-Wan. For the 501st, the 212th. For the innumerable lives lost.

For Anakin.

For the Republic.

“I am no Jedi."

Her lightsabers came to life with a familiar hiss. Devoid of all color, pure light. Nor Jedi, nor Sith.

She felt pain, anger, hate. But she didn’t nurture her power on them. She cherished them. These feelings measured the depth of her love.

And she had no fear.

Only the Force.

Ahsoka asked the Force to help her reach her goal.

Darth Vader mustered the Force to answer his will.

She run, leapt, and the duel begun.

Strike, parry, crawl.

When she Force-pushed him away to avoid his saber, he fell to his knees. He looked up, and she could feel his icy gaze from behind the mask.

He had understood that she was an adversary to be reckoned with. She leapt again.

He stroke and parried with brutal strength, single powerful slashes meant to cut through her defense and slice her. She put all her agility to use, leaping, dodging, diving, spinning.

There was nothing but their fight, Anakin's apprentice against Anakin's murderer.

But she just couldn’t keep her ground. With his powerful blows Vader was forcing her back, out in the open, towards the end of the platform on which the top level of the Sith temple was built.

In a glimpse of lucidity amidst the frenzy of the duel she wished she’d practiced more Soresu with Master Kenobi. But then, Soresu’s strength was resilience, waiting to tire out the opponent and take advantage of the first error caused by weariness. Hard to put it at use against such war machine: she didn’t think Vader could be tired out, ever.

Now she wasn’t even dodging anymore. All she could do was keep her sabers high and fight for dear life. For Ezra and Kanan’s lives.

Parrying was becoming more and more difficult. She was tired already, Vader’s physical power was too superior to hers, and even her agility and her skills couldn’t outmatch the disrupting vigor with which the cyborg counterbalanced his lack of mobility.

Their blades met. It was up to a duel of strength now.

She called on the Force to intensify her grip, but he was too strong for her. He crushed her guard, sending her arms backwards. Yet his blow was too slow, and she was able to recover and parry the slash. The recoil from the parry spun her sabers sideways, and Vader caught the opening, Force-pushing her down the side of the temple.

She fell, and fell, with only the strength left to cushion herself when she impacted the mid-level floor. And there she was, crushed but alive, surrounded by the mummified remains of Jedi and Sith who had died millennia ago in another instance of the unending struggle of light against dark.

She knew she had given everything she could in the fight, opening herself to the Force, using her skills and her agility to outmatch her foe; but the physical strength of his cybernetic limbs was overwhelming, and his command of the Force, of this _raw_ Force… that was something she had never met, not fighting Greivous or Ventress. She was sure not even Dooku had been so utterly surrounded by the Dark Side, almost to the point of being lost in it.

What kind of evil was _this_?

But she didn't have the time to ponder the thought, because in that moment the temple started to collapse.

Purpose first.

She rose and leapt, Force-jumping on the stone stairways until she reached once again the summit of the temple.

Vader was there, Force-pulling the holocron from Ezra’s grip towards his own hand, while the boy and Kanan struggled to keep it away from him.

She didn’t even need to think: her body did what it had learnt to do years ago, on the day when she'd first held a lightsaber.

Reverse grip in both hands, the comforting hum of her lit blades, she run, giving everything she had – everything she was – into the Force.

Vader felt her and turned, his saber raised, ready to strike. She screamed for the exertion and leapt, pushing Vader’s saber sideways and striking with all the strength she had gathered in her desperation.

Vader yelled. She had hit.

She crashed onto the floor, rolling away from her enemy.

“Ahsoka… Come on, hurry!”

Ezra’s frantic call reached her through the haze of weariness. Ahsoka didn’t have anything more to give, she was just glad to have bought time for them. She had not failed, and even if she couldn’t reach them in time, she would die content.

But yet she could try to live... she mustered all her will to rise on her feet. Her main saber still clutched in her right hand, sue pulled herself to her knees, breathing heavily. One last effort…

“Ahsoka.”

Her eyes opened wide, and the world stopped.

She didn’t even reach into the Force. It didn’t matter, nothing else mattered anymore.

It was just her and Vader in the galaxy, and everything now revolved around them, the two of them, the center of gravity of the universe.

She turned. She had to see him with her own eyes.

He turned and raised his head.

Her blow had struck him on the left side of his mask, leaving a still smoking hole through which she could see his cheek and his eye.

A yellow eye.

“Ahsoka.”

A Sith eye, a true Sith eye.

Not even Dooku had had true Sith eyes. She had learnt about them only from history holobooks and from Master Kenobi’s accounts of Darth Maul and of Anakin’s and her own forced fall on Mortis.

But she’d never seen it.

A Sith eye.

Anakin Skywalker’s eye.

She would have recognized Anakin Skywalker’s eyes until her last breath, and even after, no matter their color.

Anakin. Anakin.

She had always known, known ever since that day on the Ghost, even if she had lied to herself all along.

His body, his stance, even his voice. All deformed, mechanized distortions of that perfect achievement of nature that had been Anakin Skywalker. She had pretend not to recognize them, she had hidden the truth from herself, using the cybernetics as a pathetic excuse. She had hoped, when he had taunted Ezra.

But she could not deny his eyes, the eyes of the person she had loved most and who had loved her most.

Her master, brother, friend, comrade.

“Anakin.”

Her call was almost a plea.

Why had it happened? How? It was all her fault, just as he had told her in the temple on Lothal. She had abandoned him, failed him. She had left him alone to face his demons. It was all her fault.

But it didn’t matter now, nothing else mattered.

Something in her snapped open, and through their old bond she was flooded by an ocean of shrieking agony, coming from the black figure struggling to pull himself on his feet.

“I won’t leave you!”, she yelled, pouring all her will and her love in her voice and into the Force towards him.

“Not this time.”

Nevermore. They were together, as they were always meant to be.

She locked her eyes into his, counting the passing moments with his heavy breaths, waiting for his eye to turn once again bright blue, as Anakin’s eyes had been when they had first met, all those years ago on Christophsis, a powerful Jedi and a cheeky child.

It didn’t turn blue.

The yellow flame burned, more vicious then ever.

She was suddenly afraid, but not for herself. Never again she would care for herself more than she cared for him.

Anakin grimaced.

“Then… you will die.”

A crimson blade sparked to life, staining his yellow eye in red.

She shrank, only slightly, and blinked. She didn’t falter.

She was not going to leave him, come what may.

He advanced, merciless.

“Ahsoka!”

Ezra’s voiced pierced the silence, afraid and imploring.

Nothing else mattered. This was her world, from that moment on, forever.

She Force-pushed Ezra away, and as the collapsing temple shut him out, she lit her lightsabers to ward off Anakin’s blow.

They fought, dancing among the falling debris, as they had done so many times in the training dojo, in the training grounds, on the Dauntless bridge to the crew’s amusement, in their camps.

She gave herself to the Force for the fight. She didn’t plan on winning. It didn’t matter anymore. She needed only to stay alive long enough to bring him back.

“I won’t leave you, Anakin! Never again!”

The Force made her duck and thrust her shoto sideways, to intercept a downward blow.

“I will stay with you until I have you back.”

He Force-pushed her away, turning off his saber with an hiss.

“There is not turning back. Your old Master is no more.”

“I don’t believe you!”, she yelled. “You know who you are, who you can be. Come with me, Anakin. Come to me.”

“You are a fool, apprentice.”

She leapt backwards, away from his reach, and deactivated her sabers with a hiss, throwing them on the ground.

Darth Vader halted, but didn’t lower his guard.

“You should never let your guard down.”

She laughed, a shaken, mirthless sound.

“It doesn’t matter, Anakin. Not anymore. I won’t go away, I won’t leave you to face this darkness alone. I should never have. I will die by your side, and if that means I will die by your hand, so be it.”

A tear was running down her cheek, but she didn’t care. She could feel the temple collapsing all around her. If she couldn’t turn him back, she hoped at least to be able to keep him inside the temple long enough to trap him in its fall. 

“You know nothing of me. There is nothing back.”

She already knew that, but it still hurt terribly to hear the words.

“You have me, Anakin.”

“Anakin is no more.”

Another hiss, and the crimson blade was once again swinging towards her.

Ahsoka fell on the floor, ready for the execution.

_I said I will die trying._

As she waited for the killing blow, she opened herself for the last time to the Force, letting go of everything, of herself, her life, her soul. She let go of everything, but not of him. She could never let go of Anakin.

Then she yelled into the Force and thrust her blades into the floor. They would die side by side, as they should have when the Jedi Order had fallen.

Vader's killing blow never came.

The Sith Temple collapsed and the world imploded.


	2. Back to the Light

Ahsoka came back to the world gasping and coughing.

She pulled herself up to ease her breathing, and the first thing she saw upon opening her eyes was the limitless starry sky.

Lost in marvel at the view, she distantly realized to be alive and in the open. The Sith Temple had collapsed, after all. She didn’t even have the time to start wondering about where Vader could be when a dark shape clouded the sky, and she was engulfed in a tight, warm embrace, strong arms pulling her close to a muscled chest.

Her first thought was of Kanan. Jedi did not leave their own behind.

She breathed in relief and her nostrils were filled by a faint and not unpleasant scent of sweat, human, warm and familiar, blended with the slightest trace of... japor wood.

Japor wood.

It couldn’t be.

After hours and hours of close contact training, sweating together in the Temple dojo, she knew the smell of Anakin Skywalker’s skin like her own, the fragrance of the desert he had always carried in his flesh.

“Ehi, Snips”. The familiar, kind voice of her former Master, the voice that she had been so afraid to forget, was now resonating around her. Tears filled her eyes in hearing that old, childish nickname.

Pain and joy and hope and fear flooded through her veins and clouded her mind, making her heart race so fast she thought it was going to burst. Whatever that was, it couldn’t be Vader. It was the most ludicrous thought, Darth Vader calling her _Snips_. And it didn’t feel like Vader at all.

In her dazed confusion, she couldn’t really nail the truth of what had happened. She didn’t dare hope, yet she couldn’t stop herself from hoping. What she felt in the Force was Anakin, _her_ Anakin, and the Force had never lied to her. It was Anakin, somehow rescued from the depths of darkness Vader had wandered into. Joy was too overwhelming, even against the odds of a more sinister truth, and she clung to his neck, sinking her face in his warm chest, sobbing her whirlwind of emotions; Anakin’s grip tightened even more, pulling her closer, his hand caressing her back lek.

“Oh Anakin…”, she whispered through her sobs, “You have come back.”

As soon as she uttered the words, rejoicing in the physical and mental presence she had not felt for years, a sense of unease started crawling under her skin.

Where was his breathing device? His chest seemed entirely made of flesh and only covered by cloth.

She slowly moved her fingers, interlaced behind his head, and was astounded in finding them buried in long, soft hair.

Where was his mask? Why there was no harsh sound of mechanical breathing?

“Back? Ahsoka, it’s you who have come back”, he said, his voice shaking. “I thought I'd lost you”

It didn’t make any sense, but she was still too dumbfounded to think, her head was pounding and her body was trembling, her thoughts senselessly racing in circles inside her mind.

And that was his voice, _Anakin’s_ voice, not Vader's, amused and soothing. He gently released her from his embrace and lifted her chin with his fingers to look into her eyes, so that she could see his smiling face.

His face. The face of the handsome twenty-one years old Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight, Master of Padawan Ahsoka Tano, General of the Grand Army of the Republic, the Hero with no Fear in the Clone Wars, a ghost emerging from a long-forgotten past, too painful to remember.

Ahsoka screamed and jerked away from him, leaping to her feet and backing off.

She couldn’t see anything of what surrounded them: her gaze and her thoughts were locked onto his face.

This was the last ring in the uninterrupted chain of horrors that Malachor had brought upon her.

She had been a fool, a deluded fool, ready to dive head-first into senseless hopes. How could she have believed even for a second to be able to bring him back? The path to the Dark Side was a road of no return.

Yet she couldn’t believe that even Darth Vader could be able to concoct something so evil and painful. She had thought that the true reason why he had wanted so badly to kill her was to destroy everything that could link him with his past as Anakin Skywalker. But then how could he convey so perfect an image of his younger self without suffering excruciating agony? And how could he manipulate the Force so utterly and completely?

She saw hurt and fear now etched on the handsome features that mimicked Anakin's face, as the image of her former Master slowly rose to its feet. She kept on receding, step after step. 

“Ahsoka… Snips. What is it?”, came Anakin’s hesitant voice. “I’m here, you are safe.”

He had spoken softly, gently, with only the slightest edge of concern leaking from his voice. She could feel him pouring something onto their Force-bond, now alive again after sixteen long years of silence; it pounded against the shields she kept raised, too wary of him to let them down even the slightest bit.

She would have opened the bond to Vader: she had not feared him nor hated him, she’d only wanted to save him.

But this… this awful farce, this mockery of everything Anakin had been… This was too much, the line had been crossed. The fact that Vader was able to do this to his own past could only mean he was lost for good. She had wanted to save him, but she had failed. There was no turning back.

“Sith, it’s over now”, she said, trying to inject her voice with the same righteousness she had been filled with during their fight, but what came out of her mouth was just the plea of a frightened child.

The ghost of Anakin, seemingly startled, stopped, looked at her and… chuckled, of all things. In seeing the familiar half-smile, flaming pain soared in her chest.

“Sith?”, he asked jeeringly. “Says the one who’s just tried to kill us!”

She was on the verge of retorting that it was bold speaking from the one who had just told her _then you will die_ , when the word _us_ sunk in.

“Ahsoka, Anakin’s right. We are here. We won’t let him harm you anymore.”

Utterly, definitively shocked, she turned towards the source of this second voice. She must be mistaken, she couldn’t have heard _that_ voice. Not even Vader could be so cruel… Or could he?

Apparently he could.

Nothing short of Obi-Wan Kenobi in his cream linen vest was cautiously advancing towards her, his worried eyes wide-open.

Her knees gave away and she dropped to the floor. She closed her eyes and clutched her head in her hands.

“Go away. You are dead”, she whispered, her voice cracking. “I know you are”, she added, mostly to her own benefit. She needed to remind herself of the bitter truth.

Obi-Wan blinked and stopped, dumbfounded. Then the most unexpected sound broke the tense silence, sending icy chills down Ahsoka’s spine.

Anakin was laughing. An hysterical laughter, but laughter nonetheless.

“You thought you killed him? Oh, Snips”, he said, chuckling. “I don’t think that _I_ would be able to hit him even if I wanted to, and you thought you’d _killed_ him? Obi-Wan Kenobi? I told you, you’ve been getting ahead of yourself.”

“Anakin, that’s no laughing matter”, Obi-Wan scolded, shaking his head in disbelief at his former Padawan’s utter lack of tact. “Help the poor child. She’s clearly in shock.”

Ahsoka was still slumped on the ground, too weak and too afraid to open her eyes. A slithering sense of horror had taken its hold on her, and she couldn’t stop her limbs from trembling; her mind had gone blank, and she found herself wishing she had died at Anakin's hand instead that being subject to that torture. A miserable moan escaped her lips.

“I’m sorry, Ahsoka”, Anakin amended, blushing at Obi-Wan’s reprimand, as he kept walking slowly towards her. “It’s all over now.”

“Please, please, stay away… Leave me here to die… Please”, she babbled, hating the pleading tone in her voice.

She felt him crouching before her, his head against hers. The scent of japor wood, warmed by the twin suns of Tatooine, filled her nostrils once again.

“Listen to me, Ahsoka”, he said, his tone calm and reassuring as he put one hand on her shoulder. “He is gone, we won’t let him harm you anymore.”

He rested his other hand on the top of her montrals, gently stroking it. Obi-Wan kneeled beside her, his hand caressing her back. Warm, comforting.

_False, it’s all false, it’s all false…_

“Ahsoka, Anakin brought you back”, he said soothingly. “The Son killed the Daughter, and she gave her last breath for your life. You are safe now, you’re alive and whole in the Light.”

The blank mist that shrouded her mind was pierced by memories from a long forgotten past.

Slowly, Ahsoka lifted her head, looking over the top of Anakin’s head, and took in her surroundings.

Silver stars gleaming in the velvet sky. Two high towers, one topped by an eerie green globe. An ancient tree. An old man, crushed by unbearable pain, standing beside the lifeless body of a beautiful young woman, her long golden hair strewn on the ground.

_Oh, no. It can’t be._

Mortis. This didn’t bode well at all.

She remembered that moment, as clearly as if it had been yesterday. The Son had turned Ahsoka to the Dark Side to help him kill his Father, but had ended up killing his sister instead, and had discarded his servant when she was no longer of use to him.

 _Only it wasn’t yesterday. It is today, it’s happening right now_ , a voice in her head said. She pushed it away, refusing to listen to it.

She remembered what her Master had told her, when they were alone in their quarters on the Resolute, two days after their escape from Mortis.

 _“Oh Snips, I thought you were dead. You were so still, and cold, and you weren’t breathing. You had marks of the Dark Side all over your body, like nothing I’ve ever seen before, like the tales of the Sith of the Old Republic. I couldn’t feel you in the Force anymore. But I never lost hope, and I brought you back”,_ he had said, holding her close as he cried.

At last, the truth dawned upon her: being there, on Mortis, with the ghosts of Anakin and of Master Kenobi could mean only one thing.

“Oh. So I am dead”, she said, her voice more puzzled than afraid. She was so shocked that she could no longer feel fear. What could the dead fear, after all? Malachor had taught her that there were many things in life far more frightening than death.

Anakin jerked.

“Ahsoka, you are not dead!”, he cried. “Have you heard us? I brought you back. You are safe and sound, and we are leaving. Now." He got to his feet, eager to act on his words.

“I remember dying”, she said, raising her head to look at him but without taking the hand he was offering to help her stand up.

“And I remember bringing you back”, Anakin added with a tentative smile.

The voices echoed in her head.

 _“I brought you back” “Ahsoka, Anakin brought you back”_ _“She gave her last breath for your life. You are safe now, you’re alive and whole in the Light”_

All of a sudden, she remembered something, something that she had seen after the collapse of the Sith temple: two pillars framing a triangular door in a stone wall. Beyond the opening, a descending stairway. She had seen a vision of herself walking down the stairs into the darkness.

At the end of darkness, there was light.

She screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

Everything went black again.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan was sitting on the edge of the bunk of the ship’s cargo hold, absently stroking the tip of Ahsoka’s lek. He was not usually the demonstrative type, but the poor girl now deeply asleep, her breath at last back to normal, was eliciting all the compassion he had in his heart, and the Force knew how much that could be.

Ahsoka’s skills and impetuosity had made him forget how young she truly was; now, as she lay in front of him in all her vulnerability, he could see the broken child behind the young Jedi. She had never looked so frail.

He silently asked the Force to help her getting over everything that had happened to her in the years since she’d been apprenticed to Anakin.

Sixteen years old, a war veteran who had seen hundreds of men die before her eyes. Mortis had only been the last straw.

_At her age, she should be struggling to conquer a crush on a classmate, not to survive in a merciless conflict. Poor, poor child. Poor children, all those Initiates gifted with a brand new Padawan braid and hastily packed to the frontline to become cannon fodder. What will become of the Jedi? What kind of Order will we be, with an entire generation crushed by death and violence?_

_No, I can’t follow this line of thought, not now. Be mindful of the future, but not at the expense of the moment._

“Have you had any luck with the ship, Anakin?”, he asked, trying to put back his focus on the matter at hand.

A loud snort came from engine compartment under the cockpit’s floor.

“We've got two cracked shilo pins, a busted power converter, the engines should be fired twice to dump debris, and the backup vents need charging”, Anakin replied, grim amusement in his voice. “I can reroute the primary initiator, weld the dampening vents, and that might give us enough power to leave the atmosphere. After that, I have no guarantees she'll hold together. Anyway, keep quiet, I don’t want to wake Ahsoka”, he added, lowering his voice.

Since the medical droid had declared Ahsoka in perfect health, unconscious only due to the totally harmless aftermath of a big shock, Anakin had insisted to lay her down on the bunk in the entrance area, instead then letting her rest in the med-bay in the rear of the ship, far from where he had to be. He didn’t want to give the Son any chance to get hold of her again.

After a last glance to Ahsoka and to the portable medical unity to check her vitals, Obi-Wan got up and leant against the cockpit door, looking down with a smile at his former apprentice, who was uncomfortably squished up in the scarce space of the maintenance pit.

_So like Anakin._

Certainly the ship needed a lot of repairs, and Anakin was the obvious choice when mechanic work was required, but still many Jedi would frown in silent disapproval if they saw him working on the engine while his Padawan lay unconscious, watched over by another Jedi. Understanding him as he did, Obi-Wan knew better. Anakin was burying himself in work to stop mulling over what had transpired on that impossible planet. Since he was a boy, anytime Anakin Skywalker was distraught for something, he’d go tinkering with some machines; it was his peculiar, totally unorthodox form of meditation. After years of scolding, Obi-Wan had to admit he had at last grown fond of it, and now he was glad to see Anakin working: it was soothing, the warm comfort of familiarity.

“You did well, Anakin”, he told him, crouching beside him and putting a hand on his shoulder, which barely emerged from the pit. “How do you feel?”

Anakin looked up and sighed. He dropped the hydrospanner and pulled himself out of the pit, sitting on its edge across his former Master. He removed his goggles and wiped off with his sleeve the grease which smeared his face.

“I'm not sure we're doing the right thing by leaving”, he mumbled, his voice worried. “The son is consumed by the Dark Side.”

 _Of all the things you could have learnt from me, why did you chose to become most proficient in blaming yourself for things that are not your responsibility? I taught you my every fault_ , Obi-Wan thought.

“And if we stay, we may be used to the Dark Side advantage”, he replied softly.

Anakin sighed.

“I suppose you are right, as always”, he admitted. “Still, you know how much I _loathe_ standing by and letting things happen out of my control.”

“And who doesn’t, Anakin? It’s one of the hardest parts of being a Jedi, knowing when you have to step aside and let bad things occur to prevent the worst to happen. Anyway”, Obi-Wan added, trying to inject a lighter tone in the conversation, “don’t even think I’m ever going to forget you actually said that I’m _always right_.”

Anakin blinked.

“Oh, well, you know, people use to say dumb stuff when they’re upset. It wouldn’t be worthy of a Jedi to…”

He jerked. “Ahsoka!”

Obi-Wan had felt it too: Ahsoka had woken up, and was in deep distress, on the verge of despair. A dreadful moan coming from the bunk confirmed what the Force had already told them.

 

* * *

 

Ahsoka woke up to the muffled beep of a portable medical unit. This didn’t surprise her at all; it wasn’t like it was the first time she had woken up in a medical bay.

She opened her eyes and found herself staring at a plasteel slab, about a meter above her head. She was lying on a reasonably soft mattress, the kind usually employed in military-grade bunks. By the looks of it, possibly a starship bunk. Definitely not the Ghost’s, of that she was sure, and yet it had a familiar feeling about it. She tilted her head, taking in her surroundings.

She was indeed lying on a starship bunk, and was astounded when she realized _which_ ship’s bunk: no matter the years elapsed since she’d last seen one, she would always recognize the interior of an Eta-class shuttle: she’d spent too much time aboard the shuttles provided to the Jedi military not to recognize the rectangular hold with the twin bunks on either side of the hatchway, the small compartments fitted with speeder-bikes and the symmetrical doors, respectively leading to the rear quarters and the front cockpit.

 _Another Jedi survivor?_ , she thought, bewildered.

That would explain much: the tremendous flow of the Force she could feel around her, permeating her body, the medical unit, the ship. Still, that didn't explain the fact that, if she had to judge by the steep inclination of the ship, her saviour had crash-landed her on a planet where the Force was unbelievably strong.

It was overwhelming, feeling the Force so clearly once again. After the Purge, the Force had been but a whisper, a faint and painful memory of what had been before; now it was a choir, complex and powerful, echoing with thousands of voices. She had almost forgotten how it felt like, so good, so... so whole. Her head, grown unaccustomed to the feeling, was aching. Wherever she was, it was a place strong in the Force, and she definitely wasn’t the only Force Sensitive on the ship.

Slowly she sat up, unplugging the iv that linked her to the med-unit. She was not able to feel the identity of whoever was with her on the ship. Her savior had probably administered her sedatives, and they had hindered her connection to the Force: she felt dazed, and her body was giving her the most funny feeling, as if it was smaller and lighter. Warily she stroke her lek with a hand, a self-comforting gesture that betrayed her nervousness as she tried to muster her forces and get up to find out what was happening.

She bended her head backwards and massaged her knotted neck, then followed the curve of her right lek downwards and emitted a terrified cry as she felt it end above her breast, a full twenty centimeters shorter than it should have.

Well, an injury of such extent at least explained both the sedatives and the visions.

She looked down, half-expecting to see a messy stump where her lek should have been, but what she saw defied even her worse expectations. Both her lekku were in perfect health, albeit a little pale, and ended in two smooth pointy tips just above her breast: the unmistakable lekku of a pubescent Togruta. And her lekku were not the only things smaller then they were supposed to be. Her breasts were undeveloped, her legs were shorter, her limbs scrawny and skinny, lacking the muscular grace she’d gained in her adulthood.

She didn’t even have the time to absorb the enormity of the notion: her distraught yelp had clearly caught the attention of her saviors, who had just burst into the corridor.

Recollections of her vision flooded upon her as she lifted her head to look at them. Her body went limp: were she not sitting already, she would have fallen to the floor.

Apparently, she was still in the middle of the distressing vision about Mortis she had just recollected: after all, her last true memory was the Sith temple collapsing on her. Who knew what kind of Sith trickery could be at play.

Because, of course, having Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi standing in front of her, concern etched upon their handsome features, wasn’t something she could place in the realm of the possible.

The crash-landing was suddenly explained, and the ship as well. She remembered they had used an Eta-class shuttle to follow the ancient distress call that had led them to Mortis. The fact that the Force (or her subconscious, for all she knew) would elect Mortis as the ideal location for a vision didn’t surprise her at all: none of them had been sure even back then if the events that had taken place there had been real or merely a vision.

But _this_ vision, with the ship, the bikes, the sedating iv… it seemed so _unlikely_. She had been gifted with a limited ability of precognition, like when she’d felt the threat posed by Aurra Sing to Senator Amidala’s life, but that was nothing of the sort. She’d never had – never heard of, actually – a vision that entailed a level of accuracy such as that displayed by the shortening of her lekku, the feeling of the sedatives, the overwhelming Force-presence of the planet and of two of the most powerful Jedi of her time.

This vision felt like _reality_.

Suddenly, she remembered again the stone stairway under the Temple on Malachor, the stairs she had walked down in what she could only think had been a limbo between life and death. She felt once again the horror that had struck her before with the memory, making her faint, the terror elicited by the sudden thought of a possible explanation of what she was experiencing. She was dead, she _had_ to be dead, yet she definitely felt alive… But she also knew that the Force didn’t work that way. It was not possible. Just like the path to the Dark Side, the path to death was a one-way trip.

Was _supposed_ to be a one way trip.

She clung on to the hope that Malachor, full as it was with Sith dark powers, could be able to forge a vision like that. The fact that she preferred to think to be immersed into a Sith vision rather than considering the alternative was… _disquieting_ , to say the least.

“Ahsoka… How are you?”

Anakin’s voice, coming from a mirage that looked so much – _oh, so much_ – like Anakin, called her back to reality – if _that_ could be called reality at all. The vision neared, kneeling in front of her and putting a warm, reassuring hand on her knee. She whimpered at the physical touch of something that was not supposed to be physical at all.

“I… I guess I’m alive”, she responded at last, breathing deeply to calm herself. Vision or not, she could not deny the fact that she was alive. On the verge of dying, maybe, but definitely still alive.

Anakin grinned.

“Nice guess, Snips. Take another nap like a good girl and you’ll be in tip-top shape.”

Anakin Skywalker, joking lightly even in visions. This was definitely more than she could bear. It was hard, talking with him after Malachor. She breathed again, struggling to clear her mind and think straight. After her encounter with Vader, she didn’t trust herself to be able to deal with an Anakin-like vision, and anyway she trusted Obi-Wan’s ghost more: if that was indeed a vision crafted by the Sith, it would surely be harder for Vader to fake for long Kenobi’s inner light. She was going to play along and to fool them into revealing what they really were.

“Master Kenobi”, she said, looking over Anakin to the older Jedi. “Did Vader send you? Or is this a vision created by the temple?”

Obi-Wan looked puzzled, not less so because of Ahsoka’s apparent disregard of her own Master.

“Vader? You mean the Father? No, he didn’t send us away. He wanted Anakin to stay.”

Well, never mind Vader. If they pretended not to know it, so be it. If Vader was involved, she guessed she was going to realize it anyway, most likely soon and in some very unpleasant way.

“So… are we still supposed to be on Mortis, right?”, she asked.

“I wouldn't say we’re _supposed_ to be here”, Kenobi responded slowly. “But I can definitely assure you we are still on Mortis.”

“Ahsoka, why won’t you look at me?”

Anakin’s voice came out like that of a wounded animal, piercing Ahsoka’s heart. She looked down at him and saw his features twisted in pain. The old guilt rose again, about to choke her.

_Mind your feelings, Ahsoka. Face him, be strong, and remember he’s not Anakin. He’s only a vision, possibly a Sith trap, and it’s going to play on your weaknesses._

“Because I don’t know who you are”, she said, putting her hand on his left, his hand of flesh that still rested on her knee.

The touch sent a buzzing feeling through her nerves. It felt _too much_ like Anakin.

“What do you want from me?”, she asked icily.

“What does that mean, Ahsoka?”. He looked offended now. “And by the way, you’re welcome! If you hadn’t noticed, I just saved your life. Right after you tried to kill us.”

She stared at him, without speaking.

Anakin scowled, defeated.

“I’m Anakin, Ahsoka. Your Master.” He paused, then got to his feet in a surge of temper. “What did that sleemo do to you, Ahsoka?”, he yelled, menace in his voice. “I will hunt him down and stop this madness once and for all.”

His anger raged in the small compartment. Kenobi flinched and glared at his former apprentice.

“Anakin”, he whispered, scolding.

Ahsoka lowered her eyes. She could now see Vader lingering behind her former Master.

“So it’s you. The you of now”, she said, her voice broken. “The fear, the anger, the hate.” She repeated once again the mantra which had relentlessly echoed in her head since that confrontation in the space above Lothal.

Anakin frowned, his face reddening with anger. Obi-Wan stiffened behind him, looking warily at Ahsoka.

“Well, of course I am!”, Anakin yelled, pacing the small corridor. “I’m afraid of what he’s done to you, and of what he could have done if it weren’t for his sister! I’m angry because the Father put you both in danger in order to get me doing what he wanted, and he let his son use you and almost kill you! Of course I’m angry, and of course I’m starting to hate the whole situation! I bet even Yoda would! Don’t lecture me on the Code, Ahsoka, please don’t, not you and not now”, he added, letting go of his temper with a sigh. “We’ve already got Obi-Wan for that, and he’s more than enough”, he added, trying an half-smile to ease the growing tension.

Ahsoka was speechless. Every time she thought she was starting to get hold of the whole situation, her vision-thing did her best to prove her wrong. Definitely, this was no mere vision. She was now starting to believe that the Sith temple, or whatever kind of Force source was the cause of that, was forcing her to relive part of her memories in hindsight.

“I understand what you feel, Anakin, and better than you think”, she said at last, a faint bitterness in her voice. She got to her feet but was attacked by a sudden dizziness that threatened to make her faint again.

Obi-Wan run to her side and caught her before she fell.

“Forgive me, Ahsoka. The dose of sedatives was overkill, I’m afraid. Sit down, let me cleanse your blood”, he offered, helping her back to the bunk.

She closed her eyes as he sat beside her, laying his hand on her head. A passing voice told her that she was mad, letting this unknown Force-vision tamper with her blood. She shrugged it away: she was at the mercy of the Force, and she could only hope that the Light was willing to help her overcome the darkness.

“Don’t fight me, Ahsoka”, Obi-Wan said gently. She lifted her shields a little and felt the warm, pure presence of the Jedi Master touching her mind. The dizziness drifted away. She exhaled.

“Thank you, Master Kenobi”, she said, looking into his eyes. Again, she had to second-guess herself. The Sith being able to produce a vision so powerful was an unlikely but possible eventuality, but the ability to forge a purely light Force-heal was completely beyond any power the Dark Side could offer.

Anakin’s voice interrupted her chain of thought.

“Oh, he is still Master Kenobi, I see. Then, since when have you been calling me Anakin?”

He would never change, always pursuing the easy when he needed to put an easier tone into a conversation.

“Well, since I…”

Ahsoka stuttered. She had been about to say _since I left, you told me to_ , but then she realized that, if she was truly inside a memory, that hadn’t _happened_ yet.

“I’m sorry, Master”, she amended. “It was a dream. Won’t happen again.”

Anakin smiled, filled with relief. The sight warmed Ahsoka’s heart. Yes, this seemed more and more like some kind of memory she’d plunged into. The mysterious ways of the Force never ceased to amaze her. The only thing to do now was to understand _why_ she was there at all.

“No offence taken, Ahsoka, and since you’re at it, you can call me Anakin where there are no grumpy old Masters around. Master Kenobi included, I’m afraid”, he added with a grin.

Obi-Wan stepped forward, frowning at his former apprentice.

“I may be old, my too young Padawan, but mind who you call grumpy”, he said deadpan.

Ahsoka was on the verge of tears in seeing them banter: a part of her was glad she could relive these moments of pure happiness, sparks of light against the deadly background of a bloody war. The other part of her was horrified at thought, now nearly _tangible_ , that someone so good at heart as Anakin had been could succumb so much to his darkest side as to become Darth Vader.

“Do you feel better now, Ahsoka?”, Kenobi asked her.

She nodded, a lump in her throat.

Obi-Wan put an hand on her shoulder, and she felt him pouring reassurance over her in the Force.

She wanted to bathe in it, in the warmth and steadiness exuding from Master Kenobi. But the mere fact that she could _feel_ the flows in the Force while inside a vision was too disturbing for her to stand still and accept it.

What was _that_?

The time for answers had come.

Without paying attention to the increasingly puzzled Jedi, she got to her feet and started roaming around the small corridor of the ship. She pushed a button on the medical unit console and opened her eyes wide as her medical report flickered on the small screen. _Ahsoka Tano. Togruta. Sixteen standard. Blood tests all clear. State of shock. Mild lumbar bruising. First degree left ankle sprain. Required treatment: apply low-density bacta bandage on affected area. Twenty-four hours rest._

She opened the refrigeration compartment, pulling out a bottle of water. She unscrewed the cap and slowly brought the bottle to her lips, almost fearing what she was going to experience. The water was sweet and cool in her dry mouth.

She closed the bottle and slowly put it back in the refrigerator, then she looked down at herself.

Oh, it was all so accurate. The leather leggings, with their diamond-shaped patterns running down the sides of her legs. The gloves and the armbands. The short skirt, the high-neck keyhole shirt – did she really dress that _revealing_ in battle? That obnoxious Captain Pellaeon might have had a point apparently, though she hadn't certainly chosen that clothes with malice, only with teenage cheek – it was all as she remembered it. Her belt, with her lightsabers clipped on, her _old_ lightsabers.

She froze on the spot. Her knowledge of the Force was severely flawed, of that she was aware. Her training had been incomplete, the war had prevented her from attending much needed advanced courses at the Temple and at any rate, Chosen One conceived by the Force itself or not, Anakin Skywalker had never been the philosophical kind of Master. Still, after her deeds on Mortis, Lothal and Malachor she was quite sure that no vision could fake the sensation of the familiar thrumming of a lightsaber crystal in its wielder’s hand as the Force tuned the crystals to dance to the rhythm of their owner’s heartbeats.

Swallowing, she summoned her sabers to her open hands. Even in that small gesture, she could feel the Force soaring through her, its familiar sensation still welcome but now overwhelming as it resounded between herself, Anakin, Obi-Wan and the planet.

“Ahsoka, what are you doing?”, asked Anakin, worry and a slight suspicion in his tone.

 _Oh, sweet Force_ , was her desperate plea to no one.

With a hiss the blades came to light, chanting in welcome, blazing in their silver glow.

_Silver._

She almost dropped them.

They were her old sabers; the hilts unmistakably were, but the crystals... There was a faint memory of the crystals she had gathered on Ilum there, but they shone and sung as the crystals she had saved from the Inquisitor on Radaa.

She lifted her head, too enticed to do anything more than register the sudden fear on the two men’s faces, their hands ready on their sabers’ hilts. She didn’t pay them attention and kept staring in awe at the beauty of her glowing blades, sprouting from the hilts she had left embedded in the earth that covered the grave of a clone soldier buried in Rex’s armor.

The time for this farce was over. She needed answers, and if she knew anything about Mortis, it was that on Mortis _anything_ could happen. Whatever the reason of this vision, memory, _thing_ could be, it wasn’t mere coincidence it was set in that place.

“Masters, I need to see the Father.”

“The Father? Ahsoka, why?”, Anakin asked, his shaking hand still gripping the hilt of his saber.

The mere presence of Anakin awoke something inside her, something similar to her younger snippy self, a character so long subdued by the melancholic maturity granted by her sixteen years of exile that it seemed to her like it had belonged to an entirely different person.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed”, she said, grinning at last, “I’ve just been killed and resurrected. I think I’m entitled to being a bit confused right now. Don’t you think I could use a chat with the old man who caused all this?”

Anakin lowered his head, a gush of red on his cheeks signaling his shame as he jerked his hand away from the hilt of his saber.

“Ahsoka, forgive me”, he said, coming near her and putting his hands on her shoulders as she deactivated her sabers and clipped them to her belt. “I was so relieved in seeing you that I forgot what you’ve been through. Of course you need to speak with him. Come, I’ll take you to him.”

He took a step back and gestured towards the speeder-bikes.

“Anakin, are you sure it’s a wise idea?”, Obi-Wan enquired, his brow furrowed.

“I was going to go anyway”, Anakin replied. “If I don’t get the Fathers’ leave to go, it will haunt me forever”, he added, sudden sadness in his voice.

Obi-Wan nodded.

“I will finish repairing the ship while you are away, but please take care and hurry. I have no doubts the Son will come for our ship.”

Anakin shivered.

“I won’t let him come near you, Obi-Wan. If he wants me, he’ll have to face me in person, not by going at my friends.”

Obi-Wan pulled a smile. “Always so confident. Go now, both of you.”

“Come on, Snips”, Anakin said, pulling one of the speeder-bikes. “Ride with me.”


	3. Of death and change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you all again for your kudos and your reviews, they are greatly appreciated! <3 (and criticism is appreciated as well, I do wish to improve my writing!)  
> In these first chapters, as you have seen, I am using a lot of dialogue taken straight away from the scripts of the relevant episodes (Twilight of the Apprentice, Altar of Mortis); this tendency will of course decline as soon as Ahsoka's presence affects the events.  
> 

Anakin followed the strong Force presence of the Father across the wasteland where their ship had crashed, until they reached a shady expanse of mounds strewn across a plain, an eerie vision under the light of two moons silently glowing in the starry sky. He was fighting hard to control his fear for Ahsoka and the growing anger he felt towards the Son. His unease was aggravated by the powerful, far too powerful shields behind which his apprentice was hiding her thoughts from him.

Ahsoka, on the other hand, was just thinking about how the shielding proficiency she had achieved in the sixteen years she had spent hiding from the Emperor’s Inquisitors was now coming in handy: she couldn’t allow Anakin to get nowhere near her thoughts. The fact that she was indeed feeling in debt to the Inquisitors almost summed up the utter folly of her situation.

She had spent their trip across Mortis’ wasteland trying to make sense of the whirlwind of thoughts and hypotheses that kept spinning in her mind, providing her with the sour foretaste of a piercing headache.

The problem was, nothing made sense. What she was experiencing could not be a vision: no vision had such detail and in no vision could she be able to muster the Force. It could not be a memory: she was manipulating the events, making decisions and shaping things, and the whole point of reliving a memory was missed if things happened differently than they originally had. It could not be a Sith manipulation either: no Sith could forge such powerful impressions of Light powers, such as the Force-heal Master Kenobi had administered her.

And then, then there was that other possibility – no, impossibility – that kept pounding just under the surface of her mind, right where she could stop it before it took definite shape. She didn’t want to let it grow, not before she could speak with the Father.

She had to stop thinking, if she wanted to preserve her sanity.

“Ahsoka, are you better?”

Again, Anakin’s concerned voice called her back to reality.

“I don’t know, Master”, she replied, trying to push some reassurance through her bond. “I won’t know until I’ve talked to the Father.”

“Be strong, Ahsoka”, he replied tentatively; he didn’t really understand what she meant. “We’re almost here. I can feel his presence.”

She closed her eyes and let her senses reach out. She immediately felt the presence, a strong center of balance around which the whole Force-texture of Mortis revolved. She could feel him as a knot in the Force, struggling to keep all the strands from falling apart.

“I can sense him too”, she confirmed.

Their senses guided them towards the highest mound. On its top stood a flat stone building, its round door accessible from a monumental staircase. A tomb.

The presence of Father originated inside the chamber, where he was probably laying the Daughter to rest. Anakin and Ahsoka got off the bike and waited, not wanting to interrupt the Father’s last moments with his child.

They didn’t have to wait long, and it was a blessing: the silence between them was tense and discomforting. Anakin, who didn't understand Ahsoka's discomfort, couldn't find but empty words to comfort his distressed Padawan; Ahsoka was just too overwhelmed by everything to be able to think, let alone speak. At last the Father came out of the chamber; he waved his hand, and a circular slab of stone rolled in position to seal the door. He turned towards them, slowly climbing down the staircase.

“I was expecting you, Ashla, friend of the Bendu”, he said as he reached them, bowing to Ahsoka, who winced so violently she had to grasp Anakin’s arm to steady herself.

“What? Friend of _who_?”, Anakin interjected, frowning. No one answered; Ahsoka hadn’t even heard him. The Father knew what she had forgot. She could remember it now, what had happened the day before she left for Malachor… a day that had been  _yesterday,_  the yesterday of another life _._ She had not understood, then.

She had felt a strong, strange presence in the Force as soon as she had landed on Atollon. It was different from anything she had ever felt before, not rooted in the Light nor in the Darkness. It was… _rooted._ Period. Rooted in the Force.

She had followed the flow of the Force to its source, and there she had found him, the Bendu.

 

 _A giant creature, of woods and earth, of wind and stone. The essence of life itself, the pure meaning of being_ alive _. It was the same essence she could feel in the water that nourished grass, in the wind that carried pollen, in the earth pierced by roots. Life for life’s sake, without knowledge of morality, of bad and good._

_“Hello”, he had greeted her. “Your unbalanced balance has stirred me.”_

_“My… what?”, had been her awkward response._

_He had told her his name, Bendu._ The _Bendu. Memories of words that had floated in the sunlight of a sleepy afternoon, the vague recollections of a Temple lecture, like water on a duck’s back, the flow of long forgotten notions and ancient names: Ashla, Bogan, Bendu. The balance between light and dark. The mystics of the Jedi of old, now consigned to basic history courses for temple Younglings. The memory had been so blurred... when she had chosen the name Ashla for her new life she had done so in memory of a sweet Togruta youngling she had befriended, not even remembering that it was the name of the Light Side itself._

_The Bendu had professed his surprise at the balance she had been able to find in her exile, and had considered her silver sabers with approval in his eyes._

_He had chastised her for the pernicious threads of fear that were threatening her stability, pushing her towards the abyss._

_She had told him of her past and of her present: the Jedi, Anakin. Vader._

_She had told him of her resolve to confront the Sith and seek the truth behind the mask._

_He had tried to talk her out of her decision, but she wouldn’t listen to reason._

_“You are set on this confrontation, then?”, he had asked at last, disappointed but understanding._

_“I have to know the truth”, she had replied, trying to keep her voice from breaking, as tears already glistened in her eyes._

_“So be it”, he had declared. “But understand this: much will change as a result of this encounter – including you.”_

_She had pondered his words._

_“Isn’t that true of all things, as time advances?”, she had asked._

_Her years of exile had taught her much about the wisdom that was to be found in the simple truths of life. She had gone closer to the Living Force, as her Grandmaster’s Master would have said. She was sorry she had never got to know Qui-Gon Jinn._

_“My dear, when I say change, I mean death”, had been the Bendu’s cryptic yet dramatically clear response._

_But what was death if not just another one of the small truths of life? An unfortunate one, indeed, but true nonetheless. And after all, in the course her short existence, Ahsoka had known more death then life._

_“So I will die?”_

_Her voice was steady. She didn’t fear death. There were far worse things in life then death._

_The Bendu had shrugged._

_“Will you? I didn’t know that.”_

_He had paused and bowed his head in salute._

_“Goodbye then, Ahsoka Tano, former Jedi Knight”, he had said, before disappearing._

_Change, death. Death, change. She was going to die, and she was going to change._

_Much was going to change._

“So it is true”, Ahsoka whispered, closing her eyes.

“ _What_ is true, exactly?”, Anakin snapped, his rashness breaking the tense silence.

“It is", the Father replied gently, ignoring Anakin. "And it is time for you to accept the truth of who you are."

“What are you two talking about?”

The edge of fury in Anakin’s voice was growing. 

Ahsoka lowered her head, her eyelids still shut. She couldn’t bear to look at him, not now that she knew that he was Anakin, fully Anakin, never touched by the poison of Darth Vader. Yet she could feel it now, the darkness that loomed behind his blue eyes.

The Father turned towards the young man. “You must leave us”, he commanded. His imperious voice, an echo of thousands voices, present, past and future, could admit no defiance. From no one, save the Chosen One, and the Chosen One didn’t care.

Anakin clenched his mechanical fist.

“I won’t leave Ahsoka”, he declared sternly. “Not after what your son did to her.”

Another surge of shivers shook Ahsoka’s body, the memory of her own words burning in her mouth. _I won’t leave you, not this time._

“But you must”, the Father responded. “The Force has shifted, and you must not be unbalanced. You must walk another path.”

“Unbalanced?”, Anakin spluttered. “The only one who’s unbalanced here is your son.”

The Father’s shoulders dropped.

“It is so”, he admitted. “A dark rippling in the Force has come to us, and the power of this place has amplified it. It took possession of my Son. But it must not take hold of you.”

“Anakin, please”, Ahsoka pleaded, opening her eyes and lifting her head to lock her gaze into her Master’s. “Do as he asks. You have to trust me.”

Anakin opened his mouth to reply, but seeing the seriousness in her look he staggered, gaping for five seconds before closing his lips, defeated.

“Alright”, he said between his teeth, dropping his shoulders. “What will you do now that he's given himself over to the dark side?”, he asked then, turning to consider the Father, his frown still deep.

The Father lowered his head in a mournful gesture.

“Nothing, for now. The choice is no more mine to make.”

Anakin winced. He was suddenly afraid about what would come next.

“You… you are saying it’s up to me now, aren’t you?”, he asked. “I must confront him.”

The old man closed his eyes. He seemed to be forcing himself to voice a thought he would rather erase from memory.

“No, the time has not come yet. Both our destinies are still clouded.”

He sighed, then gestured towards the field of mounds that extended under the cold glow of the twin moons.

“This place is strong with the Force. Darkness has no hold here. Go, ask… and you will know what to do.”

“And Ahsoka?”, Anakin asked, putting his hand over his Padawan’s shoulder and squeezing it.

The Father smiled, a smile that did not touch his unworldly eyes.

“She is safe here with me. And, unlike you, she already knows what role she has to play.”

Anakin opened his eyes wide, stunned. Ahsoka looked away. She was not yet ready to confront him. She felt the grip of his hand on her shoulder lessen, then drift away.

“Don’t let anything happen to her.”

How good it was to hear once again the protectiveness in her former Master’s voice.

“And… Ahsoka?”

She looked up to him.

“Please, don’t turn to the Dark Side again. You were creepy as hell”, he said with a half-smile.

And to this, coming from the once-future Darth Vader, Ahsoka couldn’t really respond.

She just stared, until he blinked, shrugged and left.

  

* * *

 

 

Anakin walked away, fighting his urge to turn back, punch the crazy old man in the face and bring his Padawan to safety. He breathed, reaching into the Force to placate his tormented soul.

It was astonishing, the way the Force responded to him in this place. He could almost – almost – feel the urge to meditate, to plunge deeper into the multifold fabric of interconnections that Mortis held open to him. He could sense it in his very soul.

He closed his eyes and let his body walk to where the Force guided him, as his mind drifted forward and everywhere, away and deeper into him.

There was twist in the texture of the Force, threads twirling and reshaping, opening new ways to the realm of possibility. A voice echoed among the mounds, a voice no longer belonging to the realm of the living. The Force was all powerful there.

“You have grown strong and powerful, just as I imagined.”

Qui-Gon Jinn was fondly smiling down at him from the top of a mound, where his stood with the graceful stance Anakin still remembered – legs slightly apart, hands behind his back – lit by a stream of light coming from nowhere, from the Force.

“Master!”, Anakin called, astounded at first. He swiftly followed the Force towards him, and fell no taint of the Dark Side. This was not like the vision of his mother crafted by the Son to torment him, this was a pure product of the Force itself.

“Do you believe you are the Chosen One?”, Qui-Gon asked, without acknowledging his surprise.

The Chosen One, that obnoxious moniker, the title that had gained him both his Jedi training and a new form of slavery: it had enslaved him to his own prophesized destiny, making everyone forget that he was no mere tool of the Jedi. He was _a person._

And that title had almost caused the death of two of the four people in the world who saw at the person behind the prophecy (Padmé and Chancellor Palpatine being the other two), when the Father had kidnapped Ahsoka and Obi-Wan to force him into playing his game.

“How could I know?”, he asked warily, almost sadly. He knew that Qui-Gon Jinn had never wanted to leave Anakin alone with the weight of the expectations he had put on his shoulders when he’d told the Council that he believed the former slave boy from Tatooine to be indeed the Chosen One. He couldn’t hold a grudge against the man who had been willing to be his father, who would have been his father if it weren’t for the evil of the Sith.

“I can tell you what I believe”, Qui-Gon gently replied. “I believe you will bring balance to the Force. That you will face your demons and save the universe.”

Anakin was nothing but grateful for such endorsement, of course, and still he hated it. The dragon inside him stirred every time the weight of the future of the universe was placed on his shoulders: fear, dreadful black fear crawled under his skin. He had not been able to save his own mother, how could he be strong enough to save the whole universe? How could they ask that of him?

And anyway right now there were far more pressing matters that needed his undivided attention. Moreover, his role as the Chosen One and the problem posed by the Son seemed to be connected, so he felt almost justified in shifting the subject.

“And this creature of the Dark Side? Do I leave, or do I stay and kill him?”, he asked. Both possibilities were equally frightening.

“Neither”, Qui-Gon responded elusively. “Another way is now open to you.”

“I do not understand”, Anakin admitted. He nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He did not like the turn the conversation was taking.

“The balance has shifted once again”, Qui-Gon told him. Anakin blinked; he was not sure he understood. “Not far from here, there is a place which is strong in the Dark Side of the Force. In another time, I would have advised you to go there. You will, eventually, but you won’t fight alone.”

“Against the Son?”, he asked, referring to the only part of Qui-Gon's declaration that he could make some sense of.

“Remember your training, Anakin. Trust your instincts. Trust your friends. Trust yourself”, Qui-Gon warned him, his voice trailing away as his body started to become translucent.

“Master!”, Anakin yelled, desperately calling him back, in need of answers. With a last, fond smile, Qui-Gon Jinn disappeared, leaving him alone and upset.

Apparently, as far as cryptic – and of dubious utility – advice went, Master Qui-Gon Jinn was a definitely worthy Grandpadawan of Yoda’s. The conversation had aggravated Anakin, and he started pacing in circles, opening and closing his mechanical fist.

As soon as Master Qui-Gon had told him of this place strong in the Dark Side, Anakin had been able to sense it, a deep well of fire that reached down towards the core of Mortis. Qui-Gon had told him that he’d have to go there, _eventually_. But when? And what was he supposed to do as he waited for this proper moment, whenever that could be? He couldn’t even decide to go back to the Father and ask him for more advice: the old man was even more cryptic than Qui-Gon’s ghost had been. He could turn to Obi-Wan, but he was sure that his old Master would be just as full of doubts as he was.

In the end, he would still need to go to that burning wound in the Force that he could sense more clearly every passing moment. There was no need to delay the inevitable, especially when he had no better option. He mounted his speeder-bike and rode in the night.

He was still halfway to his destination when a cold dragon of pain clawed at his heart, turning his blood to ice. Without even thinking, he turned back the bike and rushed towards the ship.

Obi-Wan was dying.

 

* * *

 

“What in the blazes…”

In a fit of frustrated temper, Obi-Wan slammed the hydrospanner into the floor of the engine compartment. He had been trying for half an hour to fit the kriffin' thing into the broken socket of the ship’s power converter, all to no avail.

“Why does it always end with Anakin running away and me trying to sort out the mess he leaves behind?”, he grumbled, wiping away with his sleeve the sweat that was stinging his eyes.

He sighed. Throwing hydrospanners around and talking to oneself didn’t really qualify as model Jedi behavior. But Obi-Wan Kenobi, infamous throughout the galaxy for his unyielding deadpan demeanor, couldn’t really blame himself for these slips.

That was because even his own broadest definition of _dire circumstance_ – and that, coming from a man accustomed to hardships such as deadly duels with Sith Lords and the bursts of Anakin Skywalker’s temperamental adolescence, was truly a broad range – had never encompassed being stranded on a disturbing nexus-of-the-Force monolith, alone with a Dark Side force wielder who had become a wannabe Sith Lord, and an old man who incarnated the Force itself and was gifted with the unfortunate habits of speaking in riddles and screwing things up in the attempt to save the galaxy from his own son. Add to that a resuscitated, shell-shocked Padawan and the always-on-the-move Chosen One of the Force… No, not even Master Yoda would have blamed Obi-Wan for his edginess.

And the ship wasn’t helping, either. Obi-Wan was reasonably proficient in mechanics, but he lacked the intuitive genius that Anakin possessed – because, of course, being the Chosen One conceived from the Force itself was not enough, he _must_ be skilled in mechanics as well, and be a more than accomplished swordsman, pilot, strategist and who knew what else, the brain of that boy _truly_ had to be studied someday to unlock the secrets of human genius – and he didn’t have his apprentice’s talent of what Obi-Wan jestingly called _reparitation_ , Anakin’s peculiar art of falling in deep meditative trance while repairing things. The harder the repair, the deeper the meditation.

And only the Force knew how much Obi-Wan needed to meditate right now. But his needs had to wait, duty always came first. With a sigh he went back to fixing the rebellious power converter that didn’t really seem to like being refitted. After some minutes of struggling, Force-suggesting and swearing, he finally convinced the hydrospanner to do its work and looked at his repair with mild satisfaction.

“There you are”, he fondly rebuked his grumpy patient.

“So eager to leave, Master Jedi?”

Only his Jedi training molded his jump into a slight wince, but even that didn’t save him from knocking his shoulder against the durasteel compartment. Cursing again under his breath – no, definitely he was not giving the best show of his demeanor that day – he lifted his head towards the cockpit door, where the ominous figure of the Son was standing, watching him from above with his insufferable thin smile.

Slowly Obi-Wan pulled himself out of the engine compartment, equipping his best sabacc face to meet the inconvenient guest.

“Hello there”, he saluted amiably. “I suppose you are here to take possession of our ship.”

The Son forged a thin smile that barely hid his annoyance.

“All in due time, Master Jedi. No, I am here on another errand.”

“Well, I hope it doesn't take too long", he replied shrugging. "I have work to do.”

A snarl of anger flashed over the Son’s face.

“Very well”, was his livid reply. Obi-Wan idly wondered why most Darksiders were so predictably easy to piss off: there was no fastest way to aggravate them than to ignore their bait and not give into anger. He was almost missing Ventress and her droll banter. “I’ll get straight to the point, then. I have a gift for you, Master Jedi”.

Obi-Wan stiffened.

“The Dark Side has nothing to tempt me”, he said sternly. The Son smiled, an evil twist of his lips.

“Oh, but you’ll like this one. What if I could… Show you the future?”, he asked, slowly circling Obi-Wan.

The Jedi felt a surge of dark energy enveloping him, gripping his body and entering his bloodstream as he gasped for air.

The future. Foresight had always been his blessing, and his downfall.

“No… I don’t want to see it”, he moaned, struggling to breathe.

Oh, the Son was good, he had to admit that much. The greatest threat posed by the Dark Side has always been its ability of understanding and exploiting the secret weaknesses of its opponents.

Obi-Wan had a gift for sensing the events about to unfold, the ability to anticipate the risks and the windows of opportunity with a moment’s notice, or to feel when something was amiss. His bad feelings had rarely been wrong. The gift was of some use in battle, but its short notice had failed him more than once, most tragically when he had foreseen Qui-Gon Jinn’s death three split seconds before watching him being gutted by Darth Maul before his eyes, too late to save him. Knowing the future without being able to change it, being just an helpless onlooker: it was not a gift, it was a curse. He had felt betrayed by the Force, and in his bitterness he had spent countless sleepless nights cursing his foresight. From that moment on, he had secretly craved the ability to grasp from the Force the knowledge of possible outcomes of the multifold paths of destiny: he couldn’t bear to risk losing his Padawan the same way he had lost his Master. But matter how hard he had worked in order to achieve it, that power had always eluded him.

And now, as he tried to refuse the Son’s gift, he knew that the Dark Side was toying with him, using his deepest desire to weaken his struggle: he could not fight with all his will against the very thing he’d always desired. Not now, when he’d finally accepted that Anakin was indeed the Chosen One. Not now, when knowing the future could mean helping Anakin to fulfill his destiny and bring balance to the Force, destroying the Sith and ending the war.

He tried to resist, but the dark energy was now soaring through his body, flowing cold in his veins, freezing his nerves, crippling his limbs and his will. It was Zigoola all over again, except this time there was no Bail Organa to depend on him, and the bait was tempting, too tempting, and the Son was too powerful. Without wanting to, still fighting not to, Obi-Wan yielded.

 

_Obi-Wan is in a rocky sinkhole, riding a lizard-like animal, pursuing something. A brutal battle rages around him. The sound of blasters and cannon fire echoes on the rocks, smoke fills the air. A familiar voice shouts, “Blast him!”. He feels a surge of power coming from behind him; his mount jerks, putting itself between her rider and the blast. He falls, forever._

A flash.

_Clones marching in attack formation on the Jedi temple, a white serpent on the marble staircase._

A flash.

_The Room of a Thousands Fountains, its flooded floor littered with debris of shattered stone. Blood flows from the bodies floating in the pools, their once crystalline water now stained red._

Someone was screaming, a cry of unbearable agony. Obi-Wan didn’t realize it came from his throat.

A flash.

_Shaak Ti, her lovely figure slump over a meditation pad, a lightsaber wound still fuming in her chest._

A flash.

_Beheaded younglings in the Council Chamber._

A flash.

_White armored figures blasting their way into the crèche, ripping crying infants from the hands of the older children._

“Please, please, make this stop. I can’t watch anymore _…_ ”

The horror was unbearable. If this was the future, Obi-Wan didn’t want to see anymore. He started to fight against this vision of dread.

A flash.

_Two fighters dance among a flood of lava, the blue lights of their sabers a fatally enticing embroidery of love and death against the blood-red background._

A flash.

 _The stump of a man enveloped in flames on the shore of a scarlet river. The echo of his last words still reverberate in the air:_ “I hate you!”. _Flames engulf his body and he screams in agony, the most dreadful sound the galaxy has ever heard –_ or was it Obi-Wan’s scream?

Obi-Wan fought harder to escape from his deadly hallucination. On Zigoola physical pain had been a beacon guiding him to resurface to lucidity; now the pain in his soul was strengthening his will to fight against the darkness.

A flash.

_A cloaked man weeps under a twin sunset, sobs violently shaking his frame. No one hears the echoes of his undying misery, lost in the empty wasteland._

The pain was too strong, he couldn’t bear it.

No. He could, and he _would_. He had to come back, to follow the Light that still flickered inside him. But it was hard, so hard.

There was no hope.

From far, far away, Anakin’s words to the Father came to him, like a faint North Star that could not lit the night but could show the way to the lost wanderer. _There is always hope_ , his brave apprentice had said.

A flash.

 _No one hears the man cry, save the newborn child he cradles in his arms. The light of the binary sunset plays in the boy’s blond hair_. _As the suns die, the new hope opens his blue eyes._

A flash.

_An old man and a black cyborg are engaged in a mockery of a lightsaber duel, red against blue in a tense slow motion. One too old and tired, the other too un-whole to fight. The old man raises his blue saber, abandoning all hopes of victory._

Death.

_The glimpse of a young man, with blond hair and blue eyes, a smooth lightsaber hilt clipped at his belt._

Hope.

_The red saber strikes where the neck of the old man should have been, but meets only air and an empty cloak._

Death.

_The thud of a ridged lightsaber hilt on the floor, muffled by the cloak._

Death. Darkness.

_Then, a glimpse of blue from the netherworlds._

Hope.

A flash, and then nothing.

Obi-Wan screamed as fire and ice battled in his veins.

 

* * *

  

Anakin was rushing through the darkened plan fueled by the same horrified fury that had driven him two years before in his fateful crossing of the Junland Wastes, over rocks and sand bathed in the blood red light of Tatooine’s binary sunset. He could feel the blood pounding in his temples and in the hand that clutched the handlebar.

He would not be late this time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue between Ahsoka and the Bendu comes from a scene that never made its way into The Mysteries of Chopper Base episode.  
> Zigoola is a reference to the Clone Wars novel Wild Space, where Obi-Wan and Bail Organa travel to a Sith world, falling into a trap set for them by Sidious.


	4. The shape of things to come

When Anakin left, Ahsoka had to keep herself from turning and following him with her gaze. It hurt to be separated again. She sighed and closed her eyes, listening to the swoosh of the speeder-bike as it faded away in the distance. The way the Father had greeted her, calling her _friend of the Bendu_ , had underpinned even further the disturbing idea that had slithered under her skin from the moment she’d found herself in the bunk of a Jedi ship. Back then, she had not allowed that idea to take a definite form, but now she couldn’t deny the way in which, every time it surfaced back from the depths of her thoughts, her skin seemed to prickle, touched by the Force. It seemed as if the Force itself was telling her that this was the answer she was looking for. She breathed, trying to steady her heartbeats, and reached out to the Force to center herself. The Father seemed to understand her need and let her take her time.

At last, Ahsoka lifted her head towards him, opening her eyes to look at him.

“I need the truth.”

“You already know the truth”, he replied gently.

“I can guess”, was her wary retort. “It’s not the same thing, guessing and knowing.”

The Father glanced sideways, his gaze lost amidst the mounds. “ _Ignorance, yet knowledge_ ”, he recited, his aloof voice echoing in the night.

Ahsoka blinked. She had never heard that phrasing of the familiar line; to the ear of a Jedi, such a wording would sound dangerously close to heresy. “ _There is no ignorance, there is knowledge_ ”, she corrected. “But I’m not here to talk about the Jedi Code. I need to know what’s happening.”

The Father turned towards her. “Knowledge does not grant wisdom. You must give a name to your fears in order to conquer it.”

Silence fell thick between them.

“Am I dead?”, she asked at last, bluntly.

“Yes, and no.” He shrugged and gestured vaguely towards the distant mounds. “It depends on your definition of _death_.”

Ahsoka rolled her eyes in amused frustration, her lips curling in a lopsided sneer. She knew that, had this conversation happened the first time she’d been on Mortis as a brash teenager, she would have already run out of patience and snapped at the old man in anger. Her exile and her maturity had taught her better, and she resolved to wait; this, at any rate, didn’t prevent her from remarking on his unsatisfactory answer.

“You are offering me nor knowledge nor wisdom”, she said dryly. “Anyway, I believed death to be a fairly straightforward concept.”

“Would you be asking, if it were so?”, the Father politely enquired, his own slight amusement signaled by a feeble twist of his lips.

Ahsoka found herself snorting. “Maybe not”, she conceded. “Even life and death seem different here.”

“The difference is in what you see, not in essence. The Force is one and the same, only amplified.” He paused, smiling at her. “But what would a child like you know of death?”

“Still not enough, apparently.” That was true: she couldn’t even tell if she was dead of alive. “Yet more than I ever wished to.” A shroud of sadness veiled her blue eyes. “I have been taught that when life leaves our body our consciousness is freed from matter and dissolve into the Cosmic Force.”

The Father shook his head. “Those are only names”, he said. “Names given by the Jedi to help them label the various facets of the Force. They are part of the same entity, a entity you must see in its entirety, just as to understand the meaning of a sentence you cannot focus only on the words, but on the tone and the face of the speaker as well. Forget what you have been taught. Remember what you have learnt.”

Ahsoka blinked. “What does this mean?”

“What you said about death is only one of the possible outcomes. The more usual, but not the only one.”

“What are the others, then?”

“Many, none than I directly know of. I never died.”

“But I’m supposed to know, am I not?”, she asked, fighting hard to keep her voice steady.

“Perhaps.”

Her shoulders slumped, and she sighed. He was making it really difficult. “I see you won’t speak plainly. Very well, I’ll do it.” It was hard, trying to find the words to elaborate on such a subject. She was afraid, shocked, and the Force was too strong here, making it hard to focus. “There are things… things that have happened, things I don’t understand.” Her gaze was hard now, her arms crossed over her chest as she breathed to keep panic at bay. It was easier to tell everything from the beginning. “Seventeen years ago, your Son turned me to the Dark Side. I was… gone, dead maybe, for some minutes, but your Daughter brought me back. I lived my life. Many things happened… horrible things.” She stopped to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. “I left the Jedi, but I never stopped fighting the Sith. The last time I awoke from sleep, I was thirty-three years old, and I was going to confront…” Her voice faltered; she just couldn’t find the words. Anakin? Darth Vader? _Your precious_ _Chosen One_? “A strong opponent, powerful with the Dark Side”, she said at last, settling for the most noncommittal phrasing she could think of. “The Sith temple we fought in was collapsing on us. I pulled it down… to kill us both. All went black… and then I woke up here… younger, with people I haven’t seen for seventeen years. People who should be different… dead, maybe.” She paused again, breathing to empty her mind and find the strength to say out loud the thought that had gnawed at her since she’d felt the Force around her upon her awakening. “Awaking from death seems impossible enough, but I can cope with resurrection… But awaking _in the past_?” It sounded even more preposterous, now that she’d said it out loud.

The Father locked his gaze into hers. “Nothing is impossible in the Force.”

Silence, deafening silence fell between them, filling the landscape to the horizon, a deadly silence broken only by Ahsoka’s labored breath. It was true, then. She staggered under the weight of the revelation.

“But this… this is _supposed_ to be impossible.”

“For a mere sentient, perhaps. But the combined strength of my daughter and the Chosen One could have accomplished such an achievement.”

“Anakin knows?”

“No.” Ahsoka breathed out her relief, and the Father smiled in compassionate understanding. “My daughter used him. But I am sure he would have complied willingly, had she told him her plans. He cares for you”, he added.

“I… I care for him too.” It was the truth, the plain truth. “Is… is it real, then? I am… _back in time_? Seventeen years _ago?_ Before… Oh, Anakin”, she moaned, holding her head in her hands and sobbing against her palms as the implications of that enormity came crashing down on her. The Father let her cry all the misery of the past seventeen years, and the grief and hope and fear that were on the verge of making her heart burst. “Why? Why me?”, she croaked at last, her voice broken.

“It was the will of the Force.”

“The will… But… Isn’t he the Chosen One? Why me? Why not him?”

“It was you who my Son killed, you who my Daughter could pull back from a future that will never again come to pass.”

Ahsoka slowly lowered her hands, clenching her fists to stop them from shaking.

“You know the future, don’t you?”

“No”, he replied, looking away, saddened. “I know many futures, many possible outcomes. I _suspect_ which of those futures is the one you came from. Looking into the Force, I can see the events that are more likely to come to fruition. There is not merely _one_ future.”

 _Always in motion, the future is_. Master Yoda’s words echoed in her mind, a soothing anchor of gentle wisdom. Yet there was something amiss in this wisdom: if future was, indeed, uncertain, what was the meaning of their presence there? Hadn’t they been summoned to Mortis because of the prophecy? The Father had wanted to know if Anakin was indeed the Chosen One and, apparently, he was. So his future, at least, had to be certain.

“But then… does the prophecy have any sense at all?”

“Oh, the prophecy”. The Father studied her. “He _is_ the Chosen One. The Force itself willed his existence, an opposite and equal reaction to the corruption of the Sith. They tore the fabric of the Force apart, and the Chosen One was conceived. He will bring about the end of the Sith, and he will close the wound in the Force. The destination is certain. The path he will trade to reach it, this is what is still in the making.”

Ahsoka shook her head. “This can’t be. He didn’t bring balance, he broke it. I saw him. I… I _fought_ him. We tried to kill each other. He fell to the Dark Side, and became Sith himself.” It hurt to say out loud that she had tried to kill Anakin, but she had to face all the truths of the past hours, even the most unpleasant ones. Another surge of shivers jolted her body.

“You are still bound to this world of crude matter”, the Father chastised her. “You think in terms of years, of individual lives. You need to understand this: he will bring doom upon the Sith… but this doesn’t mean he will stay on the path of Light. And not everything dark is evil, not all the Darkness is Sith.” His gaze in Ahsoka’s eyes was harder than durasteel now. “The future is multifold, my friend. He can destroy the Sith tomorrow, or destroy the galaxy until he and the Sith Lord are the only ones standing. He has in himself the power to extinguish all life in the universe… and even this is a form of balance, from a certain point of view.”

The shivers were now threatening to make her crumble to the ground. _The end of all life…_ to think that a man could hold such power, without even knowing, and to think that a _Sith_ could hold such power… the galaxy she had lived in had been blessed by Darth Vader’s ignorance of the power he could wield. She couldn’t risk unleashing it again on the galaxy.

“He has to stay here”, she whispered, tears stinging her eyes. She had just gotten him back, and now she had to leave him again…

“No!” The Father’s cry betrayed the depth of his fear. “No, he must leave. He had the chance to stay before my Son kidnapped you, but he refused. Now, after the death of my Daughter, that course of events has been forever discarded. He must confront my Son, and then you must leave.”

She nodded. This was something she could understand: to bring balance to the universe, Anakin had to bring balance to Mortis beforehand.

“And what’s my role in all this?”

The Father smiled at her, and she could see in his unworldly eyes the ghost of the love he’d harbored for his daughter. “What would you do, were you given the chance to change things?”

Ahsoka sighed. “I would try to save Anakin. Save Anakin to save the Galaxy, or what of it can still be saved.”

“You have been given a precious gift indeed.”

“I… I know, I’m just… I’m afraid it’s too late”, she whispered. “He… Anakin… he is a good man, but there is darkness within him. Fear, pain, anger. He is _friends_ with the Lord of the Sith… Oh, oh, I see now… I bet he’s always known Anakin is the Chosen One and that he’s tried to sway him since he was a child”, she added, bitter realization sinking in. “And it’s too late for the galaxy! How can I stop the war? I was… I _am_ a Padawan! A teenager! I can’t just go around saying _hey I come from the future, listen to me and it’ll all be alright_! Especially since… since I have no idea of why Anakin fell…” She groaned in frustration, wiping away her tears. “Why me? Why now? It should have been Obi-Wan, or Master Yoda… someone sent back to train him again! To expose Palpatine… to stop the creation of the clones, to prevent the war from happening at all!”

“It could have been… but it did not. This task was placed upon you. There is one truth the Jedi possess: the Force works indeed in mysterious ways. You must discover why it chose you. The future of the galaxy depends on it. You know the past and you know part of the future.”

“What must I do?”, she asked, her pleading voice slightly more than a whisper.

“You must choose.”

* * *

 

The Son watched ruthlessly as the Jedi writhed on the floor, caught in the deadly grip of the fear he’d instilled in him. Oh, the man could play sanctimonious high and mighty as much as he wanted, but the Son knew better: Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi knew first-hand the power of the Dark Side, of that he was sure. He had sensed its taint in his soul. The man had never chosen to wield it, that was clear, he was a dull beacon of light, but his spirit bore the scars of a still unresolved fight against darkness. He could be an easy prey.

It had not taken the Son long to discover the entity of his sister’s last betrayal. It was ironic in a twisted way. He had unwillingly stabbed her in the back, and she had retaliated stabbing him in turn, albeit metaphorically.

This turn of events was very… _unpleasant_ , to say the least. He didn’t know exactly what kind of treachery his sister had employed, but he had felt a massive disturbance in the Force, a bright flash of nauseating light, a thread of hope uniting his dead beloved sister, the Chosen One and the young Togruta girl, joined together with a bond whose entity he could not completely grasp. She should have been dead, of course, but the fact that she was alive was not so unsettling: after all, it was in his sister’s power to give her life in exchange for her own. But there was something more to the girl now, a luminous – ominous – power, whose origin had torn all the Son’s carefully planned schemes to shreds.

Before, looking into the soul of the Chosen One he had seen a maelstrom of passion, barely contained by his Jedi training: pain, fear, hate and, above all, love. There was, of course, compassionate love, useless as much as disgusting, but there was in him another form of love: greedy love, tinged with passion and longing.

Selfish love, the easiest way for the abyss. And the man had, indeed, already plunged into the it. He had seen it – the image of a woman dying in his arms, _I’m so proud of you_ , revolting maternal tenderness followed by blissful pain and empowering anger, the furious surge of will, the lust for extermination. Then, a flash of blue and a slaughter in the night, cloaked bodies detached from heads and limbs, even children pierced by a blade of light. The Chosen One was a drowning man who deluded himself that he was still afloat rather than accepting impending death.

And there was more. The Chosen One had been a slave once, deprived of the dignity of being his own man. The fear of losing his freedom, of losing the right to his own self, raged deep within him. Self-centering was the trademark of the Dark Side: the Light asked its adepts to renounce their selves and become tools in the hands of inscrutable fate. Oh, how he had laughed when he’d realized how futile were the attempts of the Jedi to eradicate self-attachment from this man. He had thought he held the key to breaking him.

But then he’d felt that massive, obnoxious shift in the Force, the onslaught of light that had torn apart the black walls of death and loss and betrayal he’d built all around the young Togruta. And, worst of all… it had been all the Chosen One’s doing. The power of his selfish love, his fear of loss and his greedy attachment to his apprentice had been so strong that, to have her back, he had surrendered completely his own self to the Light, submitting to slavery and annihilation of self and of will and becoming a mere tool to channel life and destroy darkness. The result was the paradox of the Force itself.

This shouldn’t have been possible. Darkness and light could not coexist. Not even his Father, in his supposed _balance_ , owned both: he held _neither_ , having gifted both completely to his children. He was like stone, unyielding and sterile. The Chosen One, on the contrary, was alive, alive and burning with darkness _and_ light. And this was an abomination in a world which could only be black or white, black being of course the Son’s own preference.

He was afraid, terribly afraid. He could not, he _would_ not face the man who had shown him the impossible, shown him what he dreaded most: the possibility of a way back from darkness.

Because, if this way did indeed exist, the necessary implication was that it all summed up to a matter of individual choices. And this could only mean that, when he had attacked his father thinking that he had no choice because selfishness was his nature, he was only hiding behind excuses. And if attacking is Father had been his _choice_ indeed and not a compelling drive… if this was true, then it was his own choice that had brought about the death of his beloved sister.

And this was a truth he could not face.

* * *

 

Obi-Wan felt the darkness lessening its grip on him, the cold taint receding from his blood, the flames dying. The visions faded, leaving him alone with his pain.

He found himself kneeling on the durasteel floor, sweat and tears mingled on his face. The soreness in his throat told him that the screams he had heard had been his. It was Zigoola all over again.

Slowly lifting his head, Obi-Wan saw the Son towering over him, his face a mask of evil.

“Now you know.”

The words were a punch in his stomach. Obi-Wan forced himself to swallow the acid vomit he felt in his throat: he didn’t want to give the Son the satisfaction of seeing him retch. Leaning against the ship console, he struggled to get to his feet.

“I don’t believe you”, he croaked.

The things he had seen… He didn’t know what to make of them. His only certainty in the swirling current of horror was that he would not let this future come to fruition. The end of the Jedi Order. Himself, defeating and maiming Anakin, his handsome, gentle, brilliant Anakin. He was not sure of the identity of the cloaked man he’d seen weeping under the binary sunset of Tatooine, but he had recognized the lightsaber of the old man who had let himself be killed by a Sith cyborg in order to let an unknown young man wearing Anakin’s saber escape. The blue fallen saber was the one that was now clipped to his belt. And he just didn’t want to ask who the black cyborg was, because somewhere deep in his heart he knew the identity of the man he’d seen decapitate his older self.

“Why?” The voice that came out of his throat could not be his own voice. His voice had not sounded so high-pitched, shrill – _afraid_ , that was the word he was looking for – since the years of his nightmare-ridden youth, when his screams would awake his now long dead Master Qui-Gon, who would then discreetly enter his room and offer him the solace of a paternal hand that wept away the cold sweat from his forehead. But there was no one now, he was alone… No, no, he was never alone. There was the Force, always with him. _There is no death, there is the Force._

“Why?”, echoed the Son. “Why will he fall? It is his destiny to fall.”

“No… It can’t be.” _There is no emotion, there is peace._

“It will. It has already happened.”

“I don’t believe you.” _I can’t_ , was the unsaid truth.

“Why would I lie to you?”

Obi-Wan breathed, centering himself in the Force, letting the soothing touch of the Light wash over him in maternal waves. “To put me against my old student, my best friend”, he guessed. “To break our mutual trust. You will not succeed.” The iron resolve of the Negotiator was starting to creep back in his spirit. Obi-Wan had always considered himself as a dual wielder: his lightsaber as his main weapon, ready to defend him and others in a flawless Soresu stance, and his rational thought as a _shoto_ , a fast and deadly offence, with a hint of the stiletto lunge of Makashi. Now he needed it more than ever if he was to rip through the lies of the Son. He could not even start to fathom why the Son should want Anakin to stay away from the darkness. The only rational thought that came to his mind was that it must all be a messy gigantic trap, and in this instance he had no wish whatsoever to spring this particular trap.

The Son rolled his eyes. When he spoke, mockery twisted his voice.

“Your trust… You deluded old fool”, he spat. “I was so merciful as to show you the future, but I should have been ruthless and show you the _past_. You would have gained a precious insight on your _trust_ , I assure you.”

“Your words are poison. But I will not fall for your tricks.”

“By all means, be my guest, Jedi.” The Son shrugged impatiently, frustration leaking in his voice. “Stand by, let him stay here and watch him fall, bringing the galaxy down with him.”

“The future is always in motion. None of our destinies is set in stone.”

The evil laugher of the Son filled the tiny space of the cockpit, ricocheting over the metal components in a deafening shrill. Obi-Wan, suddenly struck by the absurd thought that the cockpit of a Jedi shuttle truly was a most inappropriate scenery for such a dramatic confrontation of wills and philosophies, found himself repressing an amused grin.

“So ignorant”, the Son said spitefully. “You Jedi presume to hold knowledge of the ways of the Force, but you are like children building sandcastles on the shore. As the tide changes, it will take but one swift sweep of the Dark Side and all your efforts will melt under the sun, caught by the wave. And you will be there to watch, Master Kenobi, helpless, as all your life comes crumbling down.”

Obi-Wan tried hard not to let these words sink in his heart. He fought to maintain his composure. “Then why tell me? Why would you want to stop the darkness?”

The Son turned his evil gaze away, his eyes downcast. “As a last legacy from my sister. In my anger I killed her, the only one I truly loved.” His mellifluous voice broke, and Obi-Wan, shuddering in disconcertment, saw a lonely tear running down his cheek. In the dim light of the ship, against the red markings on his face, the translucent liquid looked like a trail of fresh blood. “He will do the same mistakes. I cannot stop him, I cannot interfere, but I do not want this to happen. You have to leave. Take him away.”

“And unleash this future on an innocent galaxy?”

“It won’t happen. If he stays, he will turn.”

“And if he leaves?”

Venomous fury ripped the Force, twirling around the towering figure of the Son who, unbeknownst to his opponent, was gathering his strengths for his dangerous gamble. Obi-Wan backed away imperceptibly.

“Would you gamble certainty against possibility? You know that darkness calls to him. You can live in denial if you wish, but you can’t hide it from me. There is a place here strong in the Dark Side, pulsing with fear and hate, an irresistible beacon for him. He will go there and he will be lost.”

The words rasped at somewhere deep inside Obi-Wan’s heart, a place raw and aching shielded by a veil so frail that even the softest touch could spill blood and create unbearable agony. It was the place of his deepest doubt, a place of fear and loss, hunted by shadows from his past. A Master and a Padawan walking on a open landing pad in the Coruscanti night. _“The boy is dangerous. They all sense it, why can’t you?”_ A melting pit, a dying Master in the arms of a broken Padawan. _“Promise me… promise me you will train the boy. He is the Chosen One. He will bring balance. Train him.”_ A chamber in the Royal Palace of Theed, a newly knighted Jedi and the Grand Master of the Order. _“The Chosen One, the boy may be. Nevertheless, great danger I fear in his training.”_

“Your thoughts betray you. You knew the dangers he posed even back then. Only the promise made to a dying man made you train him.”

Obi-Wan exhaled sharply, releasing his growing anger into the Force, asking the Light to soothe the flaring pain that raged in that raw part of his soul.

“Yes, it is true”, he confessed. There was no point in denying stark reality. “My Master was wise, and time proved him right. Anakin will become a great Jedi, greater than I’ll ever be.”

“Time has not proven him right yet. The Chosen One is a very great threat.”

“He will not fail me.”

“You have no power over him.”

Focus, focus, Obi-Wan could not let his focus slip.

“Then know that I will never trust you. No Jedi will follow the counsel of evil.”

“Evil!”, the Son spluttered, all pretense of composure shattered. “Evil. The easy word to describe whatever lies outside the narrow comfort zone of your sect. The label you put on the shadowy face of nature, on everything you can’t understand because of your childish fear of the dark.” Contempt oozed from each syllable he spoke. “You prefer to safely lie under your blankets rather than to rise and open the closet to face the monster inside.” He gestured towards the barren landscape outside the windscreen. “Is the hunger of the rancor evil? Or the explosion of a Supernova? Are the glaciers of Hoth evil? Or the lava rivers of Mustafar? Are _these_ evil?”

Obi-Wan glared at him. If the Son was thinking he could best him with rhetoric, he would soon discover how deluded he was. “These are necessary evils”, he said, with the tone of a condescending parent scolding a stubborn child, the tone he had so often employed with Anakin. “Natural phenomena or basic needs. The dominion over the galaxy you seemed to seek hardly qualifies as _necessary_.”

“It does!”, the Son yelled, gesticulating wildly. “It is part of the way of things, that same way of the Force you claim to follow. But this is of no consequence now. Just because I act upon my desires, why would you refuse my advice when our goals coincide?”

“Let me think…” Obi-Wan stroke his chin with his right hand in mock concentration. “Maybe because you kidnapped my Grandpadawan, turned her to the Dark Side, forced her to fight us and asked her to help you kill your Father, a deed you could not accomplish only because you killed your sister instead… Should I go on?”

The Son growled, the thin thread of his endurance dangerously close to snap. Obi-Wan smirked, but his satisfaction was short-lived. The Son regained his composure and shot him a pernicious smile, harbinger of a low blow of some kind.

“You won’t trust me even when the apprentice you love so much is at stake?”

The vicious blow hit mark and Obi-Wan shivered. “Jedi do not love”, was the faint retort, insincere even before it left his lips. There was no shielding on Mortis. He felt naked in the Force.

“Oh, don’t they? Neither do they lie. Yet you just did. You don’t fool me, Jedi Master.”

Well. There was only a way to find a way out of that embarrassing impasse. “I see”, he said, neither acknowledging nor denying the accusation. Attachments, the torment and delight of his life: Tahl, Qui-Gon, Anakin, Ahsoka, his childhood friends, the women he had loved. All different kinds of attachment, all equally forbidden. But he was Jedi, and he could let go of attachments. “Yes, I would, even at the cost of Anakin’s life.”

“His life, perhaps. But what about his soul?”

There was nothing in the galaxy worth Anakin’s soul. There was nothing worth anyone’s soul, for that mattered. “No, that’s a price I’m not willing to pay.” Obi-Wan had to hold onto each tiny bit of his lifelong training to straighten his body into a fighting stance. “So I will fight until my last breath to stop him from turning.”

“You have allowed your attachment for the boy cloud your judgment. You know the depth of the darkness within him. You can’t fail to know that he will fall, bringing doom upon your Order and the galaxy.”

“This is only the future you wanted to show me. I told you, Anakin will not fail me.”

“He will. This is the _only_ future.”

For once in a lifetime, Obi-Wan lost his composure.

“Even if he does, there will always be hope”, he yelled, blood pounding in his temples. But no, that was not the Jedi way. What a fine Master he was, yielding to the same temptation he wanted to keep away from his former student. “I have seen it in your vision. Not even your darkness could hide it from me.”

The Son seemed to be taken aback. “What are you talking about, old man, hermit of the dunes? To what delusion you are now clinging?”

“You don’t know, don’t you?” A ferocious snarl of victory sparkled over Obi-Wan’s face. “You seek power but you can’t stop the light, not even from the visions you force upon others! You wish to dominate the galaxy, to dominate our minds, but you can’t even control yourself.”

“Don’t!”, the Son thundered. “Don’t challenge me, Jedi. I have acted in your best interest, but now I am changing my mind. Maybe I will turn him and be his Master!” He snarled. “You call yourself a Master, but you are just a pathetic monk, brainwashed since infancy with lies and platitudes, unable to look the truth even when it comes crashing down on your nose, blinded as you are by faith and sickening _love_!” With the back of his hand the Son wiped his mouth from that loathed word he had spat.

“Over my dead body”, Obi-Wan growled, his lightsaber coming to light with a flicker, his body falling smoothly into Soresu guard.

The Son laughed in his face. “Oh, no, that would be a mercy for you and a definitive condemnation for him. No, I still want you to take him away.” A flicker of his fingers, and Obi-Wan’s lightsaber fell on the ground. An heartbeat later he was lifted in the air, struggling for breathing, thrashing his limbs in mid air in the vain attempt to free himself. The Son advanced towards him, surrounded by an halo of menacing darkness. “I gave you the chance of aiding me willingly”, he hissed, “but now you force me to do things the hard way. If you let him follow me now, he will do so for vengeance, and he will fall.”

Then Obi-Wan’s body was seized in the onslaught of Sith lightening, and everything turned into burning agony.

* * *

 

Holding back his fear behind a wall of steel, painfully built with every single particle of his will, Anakin jumped off his speeder-bike and run up the ship ramp, rushing towards the ebbing beacon of light that was Obi-Wan. His projection in the Force, a luminous flare now crushed in the grip of thorny brambles of darkness, was at last complemented by his physical presence: a shaking bundle of clothes crumpled on the hard floor of the cockpit. It had taken him long, too long, to reach the ship, and he had felt another awful surge of pain in the bond they shared.

“Obi-Wan!”

Anakin run to his Master’s side, lifting him gently in his lap. He was cold, too cold, his skin sickly pale. When he opened his eyes, they were bloodshot and unfocused.

“Obi-Wan… Master… wake up, Obi-Wan.”

“Anakin…”

The faintness in his voice was sickening, but the fact that he could speak was a good sign. Anakin gathered him up in his arms and carried him to the medbay. He was horrified in finding how light Obi-Wan had become since the beginning of the war.

“You should eat more, you know, Master”, he scolded lightly as he lowered him on the small bunk, signaling in the meanwhile the medical droid to start patching him up. “I bet Ahsoka is heavier than you by now.”

Obi-Wan managed a half-smile, too short-lived, immediately twisted by a sudden jolt of pain.

“What has he done to you?”, Anakin hissed between gritting teeth.

“Anakin… I am fine, Anakin, I truly am.”

Obi-Wan’s voice was little more than a breath. He could lie and mask his pain as much as he wanted, but Anakin was not a fool, and even the powerful mental shields Obi-Wan had erected around himself couldn’t contain his distress, clear and sharp across their bond. Anakin felt a surge of icy horror creeping inside him, a slithering trail of anguish and hatred. What had happened to Ahsoka had been awful, but seeing Obi-Wan like this… Obi-Wan positively _terrified_ … it was unthinkable.

“I am going to _gut_ that Sithspawn”, he spat viciously as flaming anger soared in his chest and rushed through their bond towards the man lying in the bunk.

Obi-Wan shriveled in horror at the mental contact. “No, Anakin, no…” Trembling, he lifted his hand to touch the face of his former student. “Please… Don’t give in to vengeance. I… I am fine.”

“You wouldn’t fool a dead Bantha, Master.” Unsuccessfully trying to calm himself, Anakin summoned a towel with a nudge at the Force and started wiping some of the cold sweat from his Master’s face and neck. A gasp escaped his lips when, upon slightly opening the collar of Obi-Wan’s tunic to mop his chest, he saw the pale skin crossed by the unmistakable signs of Sith lightning. The memories of his own sufferings at the hands of Count Dooku merged instantly with the fresh surge of agony that echoed from the sore wounds on Obi-Wan’s chest, setting their training bond ablaze with pain. He bit his lips to suppress a scream and felt his Master doing the same.

Obi-Wan’s fingers gently stroke the younger man’s cheek, finding, with a small jolt of painful surprise, a thin trail of moisture. With all the strength he had left, he gripped Anakin’s shoulder. “Anakin. Let go.”

“Yes, Master. I will let go… Let go of _his life_.”

“Anakin, no.”

“Why?”

“Remember your training. _There is no emotion_ …”

“I do remember, Master.” The title came still easily to his lips, especially when he was going to contradict him. “I will not let him spread death and terror through the galaxy.”

“He is too powerful for us… Anakin, he’s too strong.” It was a lie, and it sickened him with its slick taste of blood and left the aftertaste of defeat. The Son had won, if Anakin followed him now he was surely going to fall. He would not let his apprentice, his brother lose his soul. “You can’t stop him.”

Anakin’s frown tightened into grim resolve.

“I can. Obi-Wan…there is something you don’t know. I met Master Qui-Gon.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes opened wide, blessedly focused once again.

“Qui-Gon… I met him too, Anakin.” Stopping with an icy glare his former Padawan’s surge of protest, Obi-Wan struggled to sit up to be at eye level with him. “What did he tell you?”

“He… he told me that I am the Chosen One.” Anakin closed his eyes, slowly letting his breath out. Obi-Wan sighed and tightened his grip on the younger man’s shoulder. He knew how much Anakin loathed the title, the prophecy and everything that they entailed. Obi-Wan shared the feeling completely, albeit for different reasons. It was an old wound, a wound inflicted by a dead man, a wound that should have healed by now, had him not let an unguarded, unworthy jealousy fester in it, jealousy for the Master that had put him aside in his will to become the one to train the Chosen One. Now a new knife had sunk into this old injury of the heart: Qui-Gon Jinn had appeared to him, but he had not even spared a word for his Padawan, Anakin being his only concern, just as it had been when he had died, died in Obi-Wan’s arms. But he could not think like that of his former Master, neither deserved it. Deep inside Obi-Wan knew that, even though his last words had been for Anakin, the dying Qui-Gon had sent across their bond a message more profound than that any word could convey, a message crystallized in that last tender gesture of wiping away Obi-Wan’s tears with his trembling thumb. Yet it was so easy to yield to the still unmuted pain… but no, he couldn’t, Anakin was there and needed him. He forced his focus back on his apprentice’s words. “He told me he thinks that I – what were the exact words? – I will – yes, it was this – _face my demons and save the universe_.” Anakin pretended to chuckle, but Obi-Wan could feel the tension in the muscles under his fingers. “No big deal. After all, it’s not like I’m not used to being the hero and saving the day and stuff.”

More than the contrived jest, it was the good-hearted feeling behind it that made Obi-Wan almost break a smile. His foolish resentment towards his old Master, an unworthy feeling that was, at any rate, shadowed by the sheer affection and gratitude he still felt for Qui-Gon Jinn, must not touch Anakin. He was not to bear a fault that was not his. “Oh, yes. Just another day saving the galaxy”, he replied, before turning serious again as Qui-Gon’s words sunk in. “When I saw him, he told me the same thing, Anakin. He believes you are the Chosen One. He told me you will discover it here… but he also told me that if he is wrong, if you are not the Chosen One, you must not remain here. This place is too dangerous, Anakin.”

It was in that moment that Anakin realized that they had never before, in fact, discussed the matter of the prophecy. There was something he still did not know. He exhaled sharply, because he wanted to ask but was afraid to. Fighting with Obi-Wan was pure joy and elation; jesting with Obi-Wan was their declaration of friendship and mutual respect. On the other hand, talking with Obi-Wan… that was like crossing a mine field. Just one misstep and they could trigger the explosion of one of the many – too many – unsaid truths that loomed between them, venomous darts ready to pierce the precious but frail thread of their mutual trust. Padmé, Qui-Gon, Shmi Skywalker’s slavery and death, the Tusken Raiders, the Order’s feeble trust in Anakin, lies, deceit, betrayal… but still, he had to know.

“Obi-Wan… Do… do you think I am the Chosen One?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped open, and he looked into his former Padawan’s eyes with utter terror. He didn’t speak, and Anakin felt the too familiar flicker of anger rising in his chest, but he smothered it under his will.

“Obi-Wan. Please tell me.” Apparently he had hit a mine and now he had only to wait and discover the extent of the injuries.

“Anakin… I…” Obi-Wan blushed, and Anakin saw deep shame in his eyes. “I tried not to think about it. I didn’t want to, I… I didn’t want to know.” The admission was painful. It meant to admit he had failed as a mentor, as a man, as a friend… and as a Jedi. “I was too afraid.”

Anakin was too astounded to be angry. “Afraid of what?” If there was someone who had the right to be afraid, that was him.

Obi-Wan blinked, as if the answer should be obvious. “I was afraid of failing, Anakin. Afraid of failing the Jedi… afraid of failing _you_.”

The onslaught of memories made Anakin almost falter. His mother, who would still be a slave after almost ten years weren’t it for the love of a good man, beaten to death while her son was away across half the galaxy because duty came first… Padmé, lying motionless on Geonosis’ unforgiving sand, while Obi-Wan shouted at him to leave her die because duty came first.

Maybe Obi-Wan’s fear had not been in vain, after all. He _had_ failed him.

Anakin, angry and brash, attacking Dooku on his own, leaving Obi-Wan alone, and then a red blade stopped just inches from Obi-Wan’s body, because revenge came first.

Binary sunset staining the sand with blood, the Tusken raiders slaughtered, because revenge came first.

Yes, Obi-Wan had failed his student just as Anakin had failed his Master.

“You are human, Obi-Wan”, Anakin admitted. “It’s human to fail.” Too late, Anakin saw the anguish in his Master’s eyes, a pain deeper than anything physical, and recognized his own mistake. “No, Obi-Wan, listen… I did not mean…” What he had meant, of course, was that they _both_ had failed, because they _both_ were humans, but this admission was something he could not make, because his failure was the deepest root of the darkness within him, the reason why he hated, hated, hated himself. Because he had failed his mother, the most caring, loving soul in the galaxy, leaving her to excruciating pain and death. But Jedi did not hate, not even their own selves, and so Anakin could not admit to Obi-Wan what he had done, because admitting that he could hate was admitting that Obi-Wan, his Master, had failed… and that was exactly what Anakin had just unwillingly said, while trying not to. Anything Anakin did backfired on the people he loved most. He was a monster, a source of pain unleashed on an innocent galaxy, and he hated himself for that.

Obi-Wan fell back on the bunk, his body limp, his gaze blank. Crystalline pain dimmed the green-blue light of his eyes.

“Forgive me, Anakin.”

The plea hit him, but it was not the plea that broke the walls he had built against the furnace of his heart, to contain the soaring flames that he knew could set the whole universe ablaze. It was the sudden onslaught of tremors that shook Obi-Wan’s body, a late symptom of the torture he had endured. Why, why was he hurting Obi-Wan while the only one who deserved to be hurt, to be killed, was still free to roam, unpunished?

“There is nothing to forgive, Obi-Wan.” If he could have heard himself, he would have been afraid of his own voice, the growl of a krayt dragon. “The only one who should plea for forgiveness here is the Son. I will destroy him and all evil in the galaxy.” He got on his feet, his mechanical fist clenched, his lips thinned. His soul screamed for death.

Obi-Wan turned, if possible, even paler. “No, Anakin, no! Please, don’t!” He tried to pull himself up again, but his strength faltered, leaving him trembling. “Please. Don’t give in.”

The two men locked their gaze into each other’s eyes.

“Anakin, remember what my Master told you… he believed in you. Face your demons. Stay here, where you are safe.”

Anakin looked away. He could not bear what he saw in the blue-green eyes of his Master, because what he saw was pain, and he had caused so much pain already.

“You know _nothing_ of my demons.”

“I…” He was going to say that he knew enough, but that was not true. He knew that balance still eluded Anakin, he had told Qui-Gon that much, and he had sensed the danger in him as soon as they had met. But then, over the years, he had seen with his own eyes all the good that was in Anakin, and he had not been able to give precedence to what he felt over what he saw. He knew nothing of the true darkness inside his best friend, of the darkness the Son had spoken of. “You are right, Anakin, I know nothing of your demons. But I have seen what the Son can do. Please, stay here, where we are safe. We’ll wait for Ahsoka and then we’ll leave.”

“No.” Anakin’s growl erupted from somewhere dark inside him. “You are safe now, and I am going after that monster. There is a place strong in the Dark Side here, and Master Qui-Gon told me to go there.”

Obi-Wan never knew if the glimpse of golden yellow he saw in his Padawan’s eyes was a mere reflection of the artificial lights of the medbay or something far more sinister. Cold fear took his breath away.

“No, Anakin, don’t… don’t go there, please, don’t.”

“Stay here, Obi-Wan. I will be back.”

“No…”

Anakin turned his back on the pleading voice of his best friend, leaving him to shake and retch in the dim artificial lights of the cold, stranded ship.

* * *

 

Qui-Gon had told Anakin that on Mortis there was a place strong with the Dark Side, and that he had to find it. It would not have been hard anyway, but now that his soul was fueled by fear and hate he could sense it like a raging volcano, a primordial pulse calling to his soul.

The chasm opened before him, a well of repulsing darkness. Anakin dived straight to its core.

There, on a small rocky outcrop surrounded by streams of foul lava, the Son was meditating.

“You.” The voice of the krayt dragon erupted from Anakin’s throat.

The Son shuddered, awakened from his reverie. “You.” His gaze flickered, despair etched on his face. “What are you doing here? I told him to take you away!” The furious howl froze the blood inside Anakin’s veins.

“Yes. That’s the reason why I’m here. I will never listen to what you say.”

The Son backed like a trapped kath hound.

“But you have to. You don’t understand.”

“You _hurt_ him. You hurt both my Master and my apprentice.”

“You have done that yourself.”

“What are you talking about?”, he snarled.

“I have shown him the darkness within you. I know your soul.” Anakin advanced, his eyes sharp and clear like icicles ready to kill. “I know what you did when your mother died.” The blade of blue light flickered into life with a hiss charged with menace. “I know you would do anything to save your wife.” The blade jolted at the Son’s throat, but died out as soon as it touched its skin. Anakin blinked in stupor and the Son smirked. “There is no use for such crude implements here.” A swift movement of his hand and the hilt was rattling on the rocky ground, leaving the Jedi weaponless. Hatred and fear were burning his heart to ashes, a primal fear, the fear that his Master could now know of his shame, of his fall.

“Did… did you show him what I have done?”

“No. I am merciful. I only told him of your anger, your hatred, your pain.”

Anakin sunk to his knees, taking his head in his hands. The pain he had seen on Obi-Wan’s face had not been of the Son’s making. It had been Anakin’s. Anakin had failed him, Anakin would fail him, because he was not a Jedi, he would never be a Jedi… And Obi-Wan had taken the fall for his shortcomings, just as his mother had died for his failures. One day, even Padmé would suffer because of him, would die because of him. It was his destiny, to destroy everything he cared from.

“Just as it was mine.” The Son’s voice echoed in the chasm, the flowing lava a funeral drum in the background. “Just as I destroyed my sister.”

“What must I do?” His fingers sunk deep beneath the soft skin of his face, leaving bloodied trails in their wake.

The Son had felt Anakin’s thoughts, had pierced into the most intimate well of his soul, the one that not even his wife knew completely, the black place where he cherished his precious self-loathing, the hate he harbored towards himself for having failed his mother, his fellow slaves, his Master, his Order, the pure dreams of childhood. And now another possibility had opened in front of him, something not even his most optimistic scheme had concocted: he was too afraid of the Chosen One to ask him to join him, and he was not powerful enough to defeat him, as he had proved during the test the Father had submitted him to. And now he had the key… _self-destruction._ And, once the menace of the Chosen One was no more… nothing could stand in his way.

He kneeled beside the broken man. “Do you want to break your chains?”, he asked in his more soothing voice, the slightest Force-persuade etched in each syllabe.

“Yes”, came the shaken answer.

“The Force will set you free.”

“How?”

“Search your feelings. You know what you have done. You know the monster inside yourself. What is the only way to ensure it will never come to life? The way to bring _balance_?”

Death. The Son was right, he could feel it in the Force, everything around him was a chant of death and freedom. He understood than that the thing he craved most was indeed freedom… freedom from himself, from the prophecy, from his destiny, from the pain he spread around himself as ragkhoul disease. Still crouched on the hard rock he summoned his lightsaber to himself, powering it on as it graciously came to his call, gathering the Force for this one last time. _There is no death, there is the Force._ The blue blade soared in the air, ready to take the life of his owner, who grasped the hilt with one hand and turned the blade towards himself.

“Don’t _even_ try it!”

Another blade, apparently conjured out of thin air, met his own, diverting the killing blow. Anakin grasped the hilt tighter and stroke at his opponent, trying to break free of his guard.

“Anakin! Come to your senses!”

He could not hear, could not think, could not feel anything but his rage… he had just been one step away from freedom, when a blade wrought by some unknown entity had brought him back to a world where he was only an harbinger of pain. Anakin launched himself into the fray, blowing, striking in deadly frenzy, wishing to take everything down with his own fall. His opponent merely parried, halting his every movement, whether it was aimed towards the foreign warrior or towards Anakin himself.

_Death will set you free. Death will set you free. Death will set you free._

The words echoed in his mind, tearing it to bits, a raging storm of terror and hatred matched only by the flurry of his saber.

“Anakin, don’t listen to him… Please…”

Then, when all was lost, a ray of pure light pierced the shadows.

“It’s me, Anakin. It’s Obi-Wan. Stop fighting me, I beg you.”

The grip on the hilt slackened slightly and his opponent took advantage of his slip, summoning the saber to his own hand.

The two blue blades flickered out, and two pairs of blue eyes met.

* * *

 

Anakin blinked out of his partially Force-induced stupor and opened his eyes wide in shock when he recognized the eyes of the man who had saved him, the man he had tried to kill. Obi-Wan frantically searched Anakin’s eyes for a glimpse of the Sith yellow he had seen before, but the blue was dimmed and tainted by the reflections of the roaring lava around them, and he couldn’t just distinguish the yellow of evil from the yellow of fire, but then there was no time for it because his body was grasped in a flurry of agonizing pain, every single nerve ending burning wildly, and he writhed and cried and felt his body soar through the screeching air, sent spinning towards the lava. The red lightening that engulfed him sprouted from the fingertips of the Son, whose face was twisted in mask of sneering fear.

Ahsoka, who had watched the unfolding of the events from a shadowy alcove in the rock, realized that it was then that her destiny would come into shape.

She must choose.

Things had transpired very differently from the way they had last time around. After her talk with the Father, she had gone back to the ship, arriving just in time to see Master Kenobi limping towards a speeder-bike to follow his wayward apprentice, who had left in pursuit of vengeance, running after the Son. Obi-Wan had told her what had happened. The Jedi Master had not understood the trap he had fallen into, lured by the deceit of the Son, and had tried to convince Anakin to leave. Both he and the Son had been two delusional fools. No one could trust Anakin to leave a situation when he thought he still had something to do.

They had rushed behind him, only to find out they were, once again, almost too late. To both their horror, this time Anakin’s violence had been directed towards himself. Had they arrived two seconds later, they would have find only his still warm corpse.

As the Jedi Master’s body flew in slow motion towards the deadly embrace of the lava and Anakin tried in vain to stop it, Ahsoka realized the meaning of what the Father had told her. She had to choose now if she had to trust herself or Anakin to complete the task laid before them, knowing that the fate of the Galaxy could well depend upon her choice.

There was no time, and there was no universally acknowledged truth to help her now. She had only herself and her memories to give her the strength and the insight. She pushed all her fears and her hopes aside, trying to expand the hope she felt deep in her core, opening herself to the Force and asking it to make her a vessel for the Light, a vessel strong enough to fight the overwhelming darkness of that Force-forsaken chasm of horror. And then the answer came, pure and uncomplicated as her love.

_I won’t leave you. Not this time._

“Anakin!”

Her voice pierced the veils of Anakin’s fear and the Jedi, startled, turned towards her, just in time to see the shimmering blade she sent spinning towards him. She could not know whether Anakin would turn the dagger towards himself or towards the Son. It was all with the Force now. Anakin caught it, and she caught Obi-Wan just split moments before his tortured body fell into the river of fire, stopping it in mid-air in her fight against the Son’s will. Then something snapped and the lightning died out. The recoil of her Force-pull, now without the Son’s Force-push to match it, sent Obi-Wan’s body spinning towards her, his weight slamming her down on the ground.

As the Jedi Master moaned, filling a little part of her heart with relief because the mere fact that he was suffering meant that he was alive, the fear that filled every other part of her made her turn her head towards the center of the rocky platform.

The first thing she saw was the dagger she had taken from the Daughter’s grave before leaving, taking possession of it before the Son could. It lay on the ground, abandoned.

She lifted her eyes and saw Anakin, kneeling, holding the Son in his arms.

“I am sorry”, he whispered, looking into the dying man’s eyes.

“As… as I am. I destroyed… everything… in my thirst for power… everything. Will… will you take me to my Father? I want to see him before I die.”

* * *

 

“What will you do now?”

Anakin’s voice brought Ahsoka back from her melancholic reverie. Balance had been restored very differently than it had last time: the Son had died in his Father’s arms, asking for forgiveness, and the old man was still alive. The outcome had surely been better, but both Anakin and Obi-Wan had been put through so much pain… And as for Ahsoka herself, her true trial had not yet begun.

The Father lifted his head, tearing his gaze away from the face of his dead Son.

“I will lay my Son to rest beside his sister”, he said, his voice an abyss of pain. “And then I will just be, waiting for the new tide, whether it be death or something else entirely… but now knowing the role you will play.”

Anakin, his face pale and haunted, was still shaking after his ordeal in the well of the Dark Side. “And what his that?”, he asked, his eyes and voice conveying the fear burning in his very core.

“You are the Chosen One. You have brought balance to this world. Stay on this path, and you will do it again for the Galaxy.”

 _But beware your heart_. Ahsoka could supply the words herself. She remembered the Father’s last words of wisdom, they were carved into her very soul. She looked at the old man, and he locked his gaze in hers, gently shaking his head.

“And trust your heart.”

Ahsoka felt a pleasant warmth flowing from her heart as the Father knowingly smiled at her.

She thought about what was waiting for her outside Mortis, out in the war-torn galaxy ruled by a Sith, but the only thing she could really focus on was the fact that just up there in orbit there was Rex waiting for them, and the 501st, and then back on Coruscant there was the Temple, with all the still living Jedi, and Bariss, and all the other people she could save. Failure and death still lurked around every corner, but even just one life snatched from the jaws of violent death was a triumph in itself, a gift of the Light.

The Force nudged at Ahsoka, a gentle touch of spring, and then engulfed her in its warm embrace, spreading its welcoming touch towards Anakin and Obi-Wan as well, three destinies intertwined. They both felt the touch and blinked, and for the first time since she had awakened, Ahsoka felt that she could really hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter has been pure hell, and I am not completely satisfied with it, but the story needs to go on. I am sorry for all this angst and hurt, it wasn't planned at all, things just enfolded this way, more angst-ridden with every editing and re-write. Just remember what Qui-Gon said: Mortis is an amplifier and a magnet for the Force, so what happens here will be mirrored by something elsewhere, and this is the reason for all the changes in the events. Now that the metaphorical Mortis arc is officially over, let the true story begin!


	5. Starting points

Fully repaired and functional again, the Eta-class Jedi shuttle shone in the outer courtyard of the Father’s sanctuary, its folded wings like fiery banners raised towards the skies to show that the powers of Mortis, able as they were to shape destinies past and future and interweave them into the texture of the fate of the Galaxy itself, were not above the crudeness of day-to-day material needs, like repaired circuitries and functioning engines.

None of the three battered Jedi spoke as they climbed up the ramp, eager to leave behind that place of vergence and slide back into their everyday routine. At least, routine for Anakin and Obi-Wan: for Ahsoka, everything felt like a painful memory extricated from the long-forgotten life of someone else, a waking dream blurred and unreal. She moved numbly, droid-like, elated and afraid at the same time.

As she strapped herself into the acceleration seat behind the pilot’s post she realized, with a pang of guilty irritation, that right now she was possibly the least damaged of the trio. Smiling bitterly as the absurd irony sunk in, she appreciated the fact that her issues, which encompassed time-travelling and being twice dead and reborn, were after all not so harder to cope with than those of her companions. Obi-Wan had been tortured both mentally and physically and had been barely able to stop his former Padawan from committing suicide, while Anakin had endured the turning and murder (followed by resurrection, which, while a good thing in itself, was certainly unsettling) of his own Padawan and the torture of his Master, enterprises both aimed at breaking his will; in the end the Son had hit mark, for Anakin had tried to kill himself. Ultimately killing the Son and watching his Father hold him as he died could not have been a pleasant task either.

In the months elapsed between the siege of Lothal, when the first suspicion about Vader’s identity had arose, and the revelation on Malachor, she had spent hundreds of hours meditating on the reasons why Anakin could possibly have turned. She had not reached a satisfying conclusion yet, but she knew with unpleasant certainty that Anakin’s mental wellbeing was part of the key to the problem. This, given the current situation, did not definitely bode well. Ahsoka patiently set on the task of fortifying both her mental shields and her inner shields, those which protected her from what her life had turned into. The continuous waves of shock of the preceding hours was now threatening to break the dam she had built in her mind to keep panic at bay.

As she brooded over the discouraging topic of her Master’s mental health, Anakin had thrown himself on the pilot chair and was now hitting, punching and slamming levers and controls with ferocious focus, while Obi-Wan had limped to the co-pilot chair and sat down with forced decorum, in a strained effort to keep his body from giving in to exhaustion.

“The unthinkable happened”, Anakin snapped, at last breaking the tense silence between them. “Those Force-weirdoes made me reconsider the company of battle droids. I’m looking forward to some sweet, homely _roger roger._ ” He initiated the takeoff sequence and the familiar hiss of the repulsors filled the cockpit.

Ahsoka snorted. “I can relate, Master”, she said, forcing herself to revert to the old honorific – calling him Anakin in the presence of other Jedi would most certainly be perceived as a lack of rigor in her training. In her jesting remark there was even more bitter truth than the man could grasp: destroying battle droids would be a definite improvement over the slaughter of sentient beings her fight against Imperial Stormtroopers had accustomed her to. She had tried hard not to take lives in her fights, but she had not always been so fortunate as to have the choice not to.

“And what about some peaceful meditation in the Temple gardens?”, was Obi-Wan’s enquire, as tentative as useless, for Anakin’s distaste for meditation was a widespread rumor across the Temple, a rumor both Obi-Wan and Ahsoka knew to be well-founded.

“Oh, well… maybe I’ll stay here on Mortis after all”, the naughty Knight retorted.

Obi-Wan grinned. “I think the Father would love to meditate in your company forever.”

“Then I’ll definitely set course for deep Separatist space.”

The Jedi Master just shrugged. Some things would never change.

Punching with needless violence the innocent console, his distress not quite dissolved by the banter, Anakin finally sent the ship into a gentle liftoff; it soared in a perfectly arched trajectory and darted across the skies, up through the atmosphere towards the stars.

Alas, the joyful flight was of short duration because, as soon as they reached what, in a normal planet, would have been the exosphere, their ship was caught in a misty cloud of blinding light, and all the commands went suddenly dead.

“ _E chu ta_!”, Anakin snapped, inadvertently reverting to Huttese, the language of his infancy. “What’s this new Sithspawn _poodo_?” He steered furiously, but the steer didn’t seem to collaborate, not even with some Force-manipulation, and the aggravated pilot started growling the worst Huttese curses his quite large vocabulary contained.

“Anakin!”, Obi-Wan faintly reprimanded his former student, the strain in his voice betraying all his fatigue. “Must I remember you we have a young girl on board?”

“Obi-Wan, _schutta_!”

“Masters… It’s just as it was on our way in”, Ahsoka explained, rolling her eyes. So much for the great Jedi Knights of the Republic, if she was the only one able to keep her nerves – but then, she could not blame them, for they were not afforded the luxury of hindsight. “I bet we’ll black out for a moment and then we’ll just find ourselves at the rendezvous point with our cruiser waiting for us.”

“Oh… I presume you’re righ-…”

Anakin’s voice was smothered by the blinding tide of light, and all turned to white. Before passing out, Ahsoka vaguely thought that this white mist was the definite point of no return: past it, she would be back in the _real_ world, and there would be no turning back, nor to Mortis, nor to her previous life; and much as cold dread threatened to overcome her every time she realized the sheer magnitude of the task ahead, she would never turn back and reject the wonderful gift the Force had given her… had given _them_.

 

* * *

 

They woke up to the slightly annoying beep of the comm console.

“General Skywalker… Come in!”

Anakin stretched, rubbing his cheek where the plasteel steer had sunk in his skin leaving a web of red marks, and blinked at the blue flickering image of his Captain.

“We read you, Rex… Can you hear me?”

Ahsoka’s barely stifled yawn turned immediately into an affectionate smile. It was good to hear Rex’ voice again. Their last goodbye, just before Malachor, had been via holomessage, and it was only fitting that he was appearing before her eyes once again as a blue miniature. How young he was now, a man in his prime… she regretted not having had the possibility to hug his older self and plant a soft kiss on his fluffy cheeks for one last time before leaving him forever – to who knew what destiny. She chuckled inwardly at the thought of what the stern Captain would think if she told him he was going to become a kindly old fellow with a soft belly and an even softer beard. Anakin would never believe it.

She lifted her head to look better at the holoimage of her friend. Yes, it was Rex, unmistakable in his unfaltering but somehow gentle mien, always battle-ready but never ruthless. Another pang of realization – how many others was she going to have to endure? – when she remembered that that their friendship written in blood was not born yet: Capitain Rex was fond of Commander Tano, he liked her and respected her, but that was all. Mandalore had not happened yet, nor had – thank the Force – Order 66, and Rex had not yet faked his death to help her escape.

A different kind of shock jolted her when she saw there was no surgery scar on his temple. Of course there wasn’t, the biochip implanted into Tup had not malfunctioned yet, and while the fact then he and Fives were still alive was wonderful, its downside was that even Rex was now a danger to them, that not even he was free from the evil mind-conditioning that could trigger the order to _kill all Jedi_ any minute.

The Captain’s answer on the comm was drowned by the fit of righteous fury that soared in her chest, its power flattening her shields for a moment and broadcasting sixteen years of horror and death all around the cockpit.

Obi-Wan and Anakin had the same instinctive reactions, physically jolting and mentally rising their shields to protect themselves from the onslaught of raw emotion flooding from the shattered shields of the Togruta.

“Ahsoka… What’s it?”, Anakin asked, his face bleached.

“General Skywalker? General Skywalker, do you read me?”

Rex momentarily distracted Anakin and Ahsoka took advantage of the momentary respite to hastily build back her shields and re-center herself. “We read you, Rex. Can you hear me.”

“Yes, sir, standing by. We were worried. You were off the scopes there for a moment.”

“A moment? It was more than a moment, Rex.”

A quizzical frown creased the Captain’s forehead. “Sir, I… don’t understand.”

Anakin grimaced. “Let’s call it a… uh, Jedi problem. Coming in now.

The brief distraction was over, Rex’ image flickered out of existence and the attention of both men focused back on Ahsoka, who had blessedly found her composure again.

“Well, Ahsoka? What was that?”

“Nothing, Masters, forgive me.”

“Indeed?”, Obi-Wan enquired, raising his brow in polite disbelief. Ahsoka peevishly thought that, of all people, Kenobi should really refrain from criticizing others who didn’t want to talk about their own issues, but knew better than to tell him.

“Yes, Master. I’m sorry, Master”, she stammered. With him she didn’t need to remind herself to use the honorific, it came naturally to her lips. Even in her thoughts, he had always been _Master Kenobi._ “It’s just that all this has been… unsettling.”

Anakin, who had turned back to piloting the shuttle towards the Resolute that waited for them in the vacuum of space, nodded in vehement agreement. “You can say that”, he growled.

“Yes”, Obi-Wan agreed. “I think that we should all meditate when we reach our cruiser.” His two companions nodded in – distasteful, from Anakin’s part – assent, and the ship gently zoomed towards the waiting ship, whose bulk was now ominously looming in the otherwise tranquil darkness of interplanetary space.

A Star Destroyer, more than a kilometer long and half as wide. The trademark of Imperial power, the nightmare of the Rebellion. This was a Venator-class, not nearly as frightening as the Imperial-class models, but still, sixteen years of seeing it as a vessel in the hands of a enemy so ruthless it made the Separatists look like pansies had definitely overrode the three years Ahsoka had spent serving as an officer onboard those ships. She would have to get used to that, to be on a Star Destroyer surrounded by troopers, the same troopers who had turned on her and Rex and on all their fellow Jedi… and she would have to get used to that quickly, because the gaping hole of the Resolute hangar was already swallowing them. Anakin guided them skillfully to a swift and flawless touchdown in the innards of the monstrous ship.

A Geonosian zombie would have probably been more lively than Ahsoka was as she climbed down the lowered ramp of the shuttle, taking in her surroundings with an odd mixture of detachment, nostalgia and terror. She blinked as two small platoons marched past them, looking sinisterly alike Stormtroopers, and followed them with her horrified gaze across the hangar. She was so absorbed by the overwhelming absurdity of the situation that she didn’t ever hear the voices of her two fellow Jedi.

“Ahsoka? What do you prefer? Ahsoka?”

Anakin’s edgy voice pulled her back to reality.

“Oh. Sorry, Master, I… I was not paying attention.”

Anakin darkened, and she blushed. That was an embarrassing slipup for an Initiate, humiliating for a Padawan, and beyond mortifying for someone of Ahsoka’s abilities.

“Ahsoka, you must keep your focus”, he reprimanded her. “Master Kenobi asked you if you need our help for your meditation.”

“Oh.” No, decidedly not. Combined meditation was something Ahsoka knew she must avoid like Ragkhoul disease lest she wanted her little time-travelling secret discovered. “No. No, thank you, Master. I’ll be fine on my own.”

Master Kenobi looked distinctly relieved.

“Then I’ll take my leave.” He acknowledged his companions with a slight bow of his head and limped towards the dormitory bridge.

Anakin scowled at the retreating figure of his former Master. “He should _sleep_ , not meditate. And see a healer, but I know Sith’s hells will unfreeze before he goes to see a healer willingly.” He turned towards his Padawan with a forced smile. “I’ll stay here, my starfighter needs some tinkering.” Which meant, of course, that he wanted to do some _repairitation._ “Off you go, Snips.”

Thus dismissed, Ahsoka stepped in Kenobi’s trail, trying hard to remember where her cabin could have been.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan slid the door shut with a casual wave of his hand, his eyes longingly caressing the bunk before him, the treat of some well-deserved sleep unnervingly distracting. But for General Kenobi duty came first, before everything else, his own wellbeing included; and now his duty demanded that he purged himself from the lingering darkness he still felt lingering about him. It was an unwelcome souvenir from his encounter with the Son, a source of unbalance that had to be uprooted because much, too much depended on him: the lives of his men, the strategies of the battles to come, the wellbeing of his teaching legacy embodied in Anakin and Ahsoka. He couldn’t afford being unbalanced, so sleep had to wait, together with other much longed-for amenities such as a shower and some food.

With deliberate slowness, his body moving at the rhythm of his decelerating breath, he stripped down to his leggings, finally free of his sweat-stained tunic. The lightning marks on his bare chest made him shudder – and he tried to convince himself that _of course_ what unsettled him was the unpleasant prospect of the call on the Temple healers they made necessary, rather than the far more unpleasant reason why he had those utterly uncivilized scars in the first place – but he drove the image to the back of his mind, because he himself was – had to be – the last of his concerns.

His breath was steady now, his body almost balanced; wounded as he was, he could not aspire to complete equilibrium, but what he had would have to suffice for now. Slowly, he let his mind empty, blank acceptance of any possible outcome of destiny flowing inside him and shoving his thoughts and worries away – his worried thoughts, for since the outbreak of the war he could not remember a single thought that had not been filled with apprehension – but no, he could not think, he must not think. He had to breathe, breathe and release everything into the Force.

He breathed, breathed, breathed until finally he was not thinking anymore, until he just _was_ , a body and a soul rooted in the Light _._

His body then started to move on its own, muscular memory overwriting rational impulse, legs and torso and hips and arms perfectly balanced into the opening stance of his kata.

He was there, in perfect equilibrium, body and mind intermingled, and he reached out.

The explosion of awareness that ensued was something he knew he would never get used to. The sensation would amaze him and overwhelm him until his dying day, just as it had when he had been able to reach out completely for the first time, more than twenty years before, with Master Qui-Gon. He remembered his own tears of gratitude, elicited by the incredible feeling of the loving embrace of the Force, and he remembered the knowing smile of his Master as he looked upon his overjoyed Padawan.

He could feel everything now. Anakin, a barely controlled deluge of emotions in the hangar; Ahsoka, her lively spirit encased in flaming shields, their light shimmering somewhere near, somewhere that in the physical world must have been just down the corridor. Then, from everywhere in the ship, came that sensation to which no Jedi had become accustomed yet, the multifold declension of a single genetic identity replicated in thousands of individuals, different yet the same, a discordant chord of more than seven thousands notes just an infinite fraction of a semitone apart, a screeching cacophony so unnatural it made reaching into the Force difficult even for a fully trained Jedi.

Now, luckily, many of the men were sleeping, eating, playing dejarik, focused on something easy and not life-threatening, their thoughts just a soft brush of awareness in the Force, easy to overcome.

Obi-Wan let his consciousness soar above the cruiser to the stars, his body moving around the cabin as a planet circling its sun, a perfect and predetermined flow pulled by the Force, a dance older than life itself. He had found his place in the Force, every part of him now perfectly attuned to its perpetual call, and in the Force he searched for himself, for the man called Obi-Wan Kenobi, with his fears, his hopes, his duties.

It was all laid bare before his eyes now, and he saw how unworthy the man was of all the gifts the Force had bestowed upon him.

He had let his adversary find the weak spots in his defenses – Anakin, of course, _attachment_ –, he had let him breach through those spots, and his failings had almost cost Anakin’s life.

The death of his Master was the indelible mark of shame on Obi-Wan’s life, but he had sworn, with the Force as his witness, that never again would someone die because he had not been able to protect them. His Soresu was the burning testimony of his oath.

The thirty-seven years old Jedi Master was still no more than a Padawan learner, and he had to learn how to let go of his attachments, because to let go of them was the only way he could keep others safe. He had to make sure that no one could use his attachments as a bait to get to him, innocent people whose only fault was to have gained the forbidden, cursed affection of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

So, as sweat run free on his body after four hours of moving meditation, he worked on himself to learn what he seemed not able to learn, what he would need all his life to learn: how let go of his attachments into the Force.

 

* * *

 

Anakin was fuming. His men knew what to do when he was in _the mood_ , so they had silently withdrawn from the part of the hangar where the Jedi Interceptors were stationed, leaving him in blessed loneliness. Of course, if he had a choice in the matter, he would rather be with Padmé than alone, be with her and bury his anxieties and fears in the warm roundness of her embrace… but Padmé was not there, could not be, could never be, so he had to make do with upgrading his fighter, which of course was state-of-art and needed no upgrade whatsoever, but that didn’t matter.

It was awkward, now that he was thinking about it, how the two things in the galaxy that could really make him feel good, at peace, were at the two ends of the scale: machines and his wife. There was a reason, and he knew what the reason was, and he hated it, was ashamed of it.

Unconditional acceptance was the reason. Machines accepted him because they had no moral code, of course – he was not so sure about Artoo, but his little buddy had not been with him that night on Tatooine, so thankfully Anakin would never have to discover what his astromech would think of him had he known (he, not it, Artoo was a sentient being in his own righ) – while Padmé accepted him because she loved him, and she loved him even though he was a monster. Unconditionally. Padmé would always love him. She _had to_ , because he could not live without her unconditional love.

No one else could love him if they knew what he had done, so he hadn’t told anyone else: he’d rather be loved for what he was not, than risk losing those he loved because of what he was. Loss, the devouring fear of his life, a sleeping monster ready to wake and swallow him whole, to chew him up with its piercing fangs and spit out his mauled bones when it was done eating…

Oh, he was becoming _morbid._

Well, war death and murder every single day for three years could do that to people. And his _kriffin’_ perfect Jedi Interceptor didn’t need to be worked on, so he couldn’t work but he needed to work, he needed to smother the horror he felt, he needed to drown in work because he could not drown in Padmé’s arms, and he wanted to drown, and he should have died on Mortis, Obi-Wan should have let him die but Obi-Wan always had to stick his nose in where it was none of his business…

And now at last his fighter needed some repairs because in his anger he had unwillingly – maybe willingly – burst the energy capacitors with the power of his mind. That was the reason why his men left him alone, because he was dangerous when he was _in the mood_ , and one day he was going to burst something worse than a capacitor, maybe the head of someone, maybe of Rex, and then… Yes, he was definitely becoming morbid.

He slammed his mechanical fist on the starboard lid, vainly trying to burn off some of his anger, but he knew that nothing less than something like _decapitating_ Dooku could be enough to release it. He set to work, trying at least to channel it into something useful. His awareness fought to leave his mind behind, a lagging weight always pulling him back towards his hated self.

With a formidable act of will he succeeded and he was now flowing inside the fighter, he _was_ the fighter, fuel his blood and circuits his nerves, his body ready to soar and fly and blast his enemies out of the sky, movements and impulses driven by a soulless computer. And he could sense the broken capacitor, and it was like a wound in his flesh, and just as much as he was inept at healing a wound in his real flesh, he was the best healer one could find for these mechanical wounds, and he only had to _nudge_ the Force and it was doing everything by itself, couplings and wires and circuitries moving to get back together. Just as he worked on them he worked on his mind, trying to fix the exploded circuitry and tossing away everything that could damage its frail balance, tossing memories and feelings in that gaping hole where all hazardous substances were discarded, the dumping ground of nuclear waste in his soul, where he kept all those things too dangerous to be let free to roam in his mind, things like his mother, slavery, the Tusken, everything concerning Obi-Wan that was not fighting partnership and banter, Qui-Gon Jinn, his lost arm, the Sith, Padmé, the Jedi Council, the Jedi Code, his marriage, Jabiim, Geonosis, and now Mortis and the Son and his attempted suicide… in short, most of his life. And he knew that the day was going to come when an open flame would penetrate the iron walls encircling this graveyard of toxic memories, and it would start a chain reaction big enough to engulf in its explosion the Galaxy whole. So he angrily fortified those walls, adding another layer of self-hatred, and asked the Force to bless him and the galaxy with death before that day came.

And the motivator was back together, and his shields were back, and he was ready to pretend for another day to be Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight, the Hero with No Fear.

 

* * *

 

Ahsoka did not meditate. She could not risk Anakin or Obi-Wan feel her in the Force, sense the change that being a thirty-two years old woman would surely entail. She was now older than Anakin, she realized with a twinge in her gut, _eleven years_ older than Anakin – that was why he had looked so young, he _was_ young, little more than a boy – and only six years younger than Master Kenobi.

On Mortis the Force had felt so different that she was sure neither of her companions could have sensed what would surely be perceived as a strong change of her Force Signature. Now that they were back to the real world – and she had accepted once and for all that she was indeed alive and sixteen years back in time – she had to make sure that her shields were strong enough to protect her from outside peering, and she could not afford meditation, not until she felt strong enough. The trick could not work forever, she was fully aware of that, but she hoped to be able to postpone the revelation of her secret at least until she had a clearer grasp on what she was going to do with her knowledge.

With meditation precluded to her, all she could do was to think.

Tired as she was, she might as well mix business with pleasure and think under a hot shower, washing away the stench of Sith that she could still smell on her skin from Malachor.

First of all, she had to get used to her new body – her old body. She vaguely wondered how the change would affect her fighting skills and warily realized that she would probably discover the answer to this question far sooner than she would like to. Fighting issues aside, she knew there would be identity issues coming. While feeling younger was good… being _that younger_ was not nearly as good. She snorted as she saw her reflection in the mirror, a luxury she had forgotten to have equipped her bunk with, a mirror in a Star Destroyer, what a teenage nonsense.

“Get used to be called _kid_ again”, she snapped at her juvenile reflection. She was a grown woman trapped into the body of a pubescent girl. The unbidden memory of Lux Bonteri resurfaced from some long-forgotten recess of her mind. “Argh”, was all she could formulate. “Bleah.”

As she tried to reconcile herself with the idea of at least five years of forced monasticism, until her body would look old enough to attract a man old enough to attract her, she realized what she had not fully grasped yet. She recoiled, slamming her back against the ‘fresher wall for support.

She was a _Jedi._ She was _supposed_ to be a Jedi – so no men for her, no matter the age, but that was not the problem. The problem was that, as she had defiantly informed Vader, she was _no Jedi_. She had left the order willingly and had found her own way.

Most important, she had never swayed, not even for a moment: she knew, without arrogance, to have always trod upon the path of Light.

She had left her life as a warrior and had become something that, in Jedi terms, would resemble a Shadow, a secret agent of Light, cunning and hidden, working close to the rotten core of darkness; and yet, being alone, with no guidance save for a pair of holocrons, with a bleeding wound in the Force as only company, she had never stumbled. She had done what the precepts of the Jedi forbade, creating attachments. After she had left, she had felt free to acknowledge that the bond between her and Anakin was not merely a training bond, it was a loving bond. She had opened her heart to love, specific love, even romantic love, for what her role as Fulcrum had permitted her. She had never let it turn into greed.

She could not deny she had missed her life as a Jedi, the Temple, the knowledge, the sense of belonging, but she could not deny either that she had realized there could be Light without the Jedi.

Now she would have to turn back to precepts she didn’t believe in anymore… and yet, she knew she had to go back and play her part as a Jedi. The idea of the deception tasted foul in her mouth, but then her years as Fulcrum had at least made her good at hiding behind a mask.

When she had regained an appearance of steadiness on her feet, she stumbled towards the shower, letting the hot water spray on her lekku and cascade over her body, pleasant and welcome, the sensation of cleanliness heavenly after Malachor and Mortis.

Well, she could pretend to be a Jedi. Mistaken as they had been about many things, the Jedi were nonetheless inherently good, selflessly dedicated to the wellbeing of the Galaxy at large, and when they had failed it had been in good faith… almost always, at least.

After coming to terms with the necessary fraud of pretending to be a Jedi, Ahsoka stepped out of the shower and dried herself with a soft towel summoned with a totally frivolous use of the Force, something she had not done for sixteen years. It felt so good to be able to wield the Force openly once again, her gift no more a death warrant. Now, all she had to do was to plan.

Later, after a lot of thinking, some stretching and a beauty sleep, she joined Obi-Wan and Anakin in the small office in the command section that had been outfitted as a Jedi common room, and she found the two men playing sabacc, fondly insulting each other in their perpetual banter.

She smiled bitterly at the sight and sat down beside her Master, trying not to think how deeply entangled the three of them were in this sticky web of destiny, as the fate of the Galaxy may well be depending on them.

 _May the Force be with us_ , she desperately thought.

 

* * *

 

Ahsoka’s return to the Jedi Temple as Padawan of Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker was rather anticlimactic. Not that she had hoped for a welcome committee, but coming back by simply landing in the Temple hangar seemed almost affronting after her excruciating descent of the main stairways when she had left the Order, when her heart had sunk in tandem with the descent of Coruscant Prime beyond the horizon and the image of Anakin’s pained face in the orange light of sunset had become a still burning scar in her chest.

The only element of grandeur was what she felt in the Force: the deafening silence that had followed the Purge, a bleeding wound in the texture of the universe, was now completely gone. Filling every interstice of her perception there was now a dim glow, warm and welcoming. It was not the golden light of her childhood, before the dark times, before the Clone Wars, when the Temple was a vessel filled to the brim with the pulsing light of thousands of Jedi, dancing to the composite rhythm of the breaths of so many Force Sensitives from hundreds of different species gathered under the same roof. It was opaque now, and stretched, its glare dimmed because of the lessened number of Jedi, dwindled by death or deployment throughout the galaxy, but it was there nonetheless, and she basked in it, rejoiced in it, breathed it.

It was breathing it that made her desist from any further attempt to a memorable entry, because the deep breath she took to fill her lungs with the air of home filled them with a toxic cloud of pollution instead, the fit of nostalgia suddenly superseded by fits of cough.

“I didn’t remember Coruscant to _reek_ like this”, she spluttered.

“You should try Nal Hutta”, Anakin grumbled back.

“I’d rather try Dantooine”, was Obi-Wan’s wishful suggestion, followed by an inner snort. He was definitely becoming worse than Qui-Gon Jinn, and he was not even forty yet. War was aging him before his time… Or, more aptly, Anakin was aging him before his time.

Ahsoka grinned. “I’m with you, Master.”

“General Kenobi, General Skywalker, Commander Tano. Welcome back to Coruscant and to the Jedi Temple. We are truly happy to see you safe and sound.” The hangar service droid TS-H4 greeted them with condescending cheerfulness. Ahsoka remembered the obnoxious droid: she had always despised its apparent tendency to think that seeing the three of them come back alive from a mission amounted to something like a Force-blessed miracle – but maybe, after all, the droid had been more right than she had ever cared to admit. “And we are even _more happy_ to see that your ship is safe and sound as well.” Apparently, Anakin’s fancy piloting was the main reason for the droid’s lack of faith in their survival possibilities. “You are due to appear in front of the Council for debriefing in two standard hours. May the Force be with you.”

“Thank you, Tee-Es”, Master Kenobi addressed him, always the polite one. “We are truly happy to be alive as well.” The inclination of his right brow and the slight quiver of his beard suggested that he agreed, at least partly, with the droid.

Anakin grunted again. “First Mortis, now a Council meeting. I really miss battle droids.”

“For once in my life, I’ll agree with you on the matter”, Obi-Wan sighed, heading towards the hangar exit. “I’d rather confront single-handedly a battalion of droidekas than explain to the Council what happened on Mortis.”

Anakin’s shoulders slumped at the thought. “Make it two battalions and throw in Ventress as bonus”, he replied grimly, advancing towards a speeder-bike. He gave it a swift check and nodded in approval.

“Now, now, Anakin, that’s not fair”, Obi-Wan said, sounding almost displeased. “You know I’d take Ventress over my fellow councilors anytime.” His beard was quivering even faster now, his mischievous smile barely contained by its auburn frame. He stopped and looked with a frown at Anakin, who didn’t seem to be going to follow him inside the Temple.

“You are an unrepentant womanizer, Obi-Wan.”

“Well, one of us has to be the attractive one to be gossiped about, my young friend”, Obi-Wan remarked, his brows now dangerously raised as he watched his former Padawan mounting the speeder-bike. “Speaking of which, where do you think you are going?”

“For a drink”, Anakin replied, his lips curled in the impish smirk he reserved for his inside jokes with his former Master, before zooming out of the hangar into the bright Coruscanti sun, where only Obi-Wan’s voice could follow him.

“For Force’s sake, Anakin, try not to be late this time!”

Ahsoka was left to stare. She had a very precise suspicion about Anakin’s exact destination, and she could not decide whether Master Kenobi knew as well. She looked at him quizzically, but he just shrugged.

“He will never stop using my own catch-phrases against me”, he said, without offering further explanation. “Go now, young one. That rascal of your Master left you unsupervised and, in my capacity of your Grandmaster, I order you to take advantage of this brief respite and get some rest. I will meet you outside the Council Chamber in half and a hour.”

“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”

Ahsoka politely bowed to him and watched him leave the hangar, his limpness gone at last. She was tired, but she knew that she would soon, too soon, have to leave Coruscant again, and she could not afford wasting time. There were too many things she had to do.

 

* * *

 

“Barriss? May I come in?”

“Ahsoka!”

The plasteel door slid open, revealing the slender figure of Barriss Offee. The last time she had seen her former friend, Ahsoka had been about to be sentenced to death for a crime Barriss had committed and framed her for. Only Anakin’s intervention had saved the day. Ahsoka had never known what fate had befallen Barriss after the trial. She had avoided the holofeeds for a month after the whole ordeal, too afraid of the possible outcome of the sentence to want to know.

Ahsoka had never thought she would forgive Barriss for her betrayal.

Never, until now. Now she knew that Anakin had become a Sith, had destroyed the Jedi, killed his own Master and slaughtered countless of innocents, not to mention the fact that he had tried to kill Ahsoka herself. She knew all those things, and even if she couldn’t completely say that she had forgiven him, she had at least put into perspective the fact that the Dark Side could turn and pervert not only those who had always stepped on the path of evil but also those who had the flame of goodness burning in their hearts.

Barriss’ Fall was a flicker of snow fallen on the glaciers of Hoth in comparison to the enormity of Darth Vader’s crimes. If Ahsoka could forgive Anakin, she had to try to forgive Barriss as well, and anyway she could not resent her for something she had not done yet – maybe. She did not know when the seeds of the Dark Side had started to grow in the soul of the other Jedi.

She smiled at her, trying to remember the shy Padawan she had called _friend_.

“Come in, Ahsoka. I am so glad to see you. How are you?”, the Mirialan enquired gently, gesturing her inside after a polite bow. If there was someone in the whole Temple better mannered than Master Kenobi, that was Barriss Offee.

“I am fine, thank you, Barriss”, Ahsoka said, stepping inside the small room, equipped only with a low mattress, a meditation pad and a low table on which stood a statuette of the Mirialan goddess of health and fertility. The room was dark, closed shutters sealing off all sunlight, the only light being given by two pale lamps and the small candles burning around the effigy, but there was no darkness in the Force, only the melancholic gloom of dusk. “I wanted to congratulate you on your Knighting. I am sorry I was not there to celebrate with you.”

They sat side by side on the small mattress.

“Oh. My Knighting. Yes, I would have loved to celebrate with you…”

She paused, inhaling sharply. Ahsoka tried to feign some cheerfulness, distinctly sensing her companion’s distress.

“So, what it is like, being a Knight?”

Barriss turned to look her in the eyes. Her gaze was pained and there was a dark flame burning deep inside her, behind a thick mist on doubt and uncertainty.

“It is… hard. Sad”, she said, getting out the words with obvious discomfort. “It is not how I thought it would be. I envy you, Ahsoka. I would love to have still Master Unduli by my side.”

Ahsoka frowned. “I thought you would still get combined assignments, don’t you? You are a junior Knight after all… My Master and Master Kenobi still get to be deployed together quite often.”

Barriss shook her head, smiling grimly. “I am a Healer, Ahsoka. We are few, and much needed. I do not get missions anymore. I have my medical ship and I just jump from battle aftermath to battle aftermath, dropping by only to patch up the wounded and ease the passing of the dying, then leave the survivors to their fate and jump back into hyperspace and to another med camp.”

“And Master Unduli can’t be with you because she is a General and she’s needed grounded on the frontline”, Ahsoka supplied, answering her own question. Barriss sighed.

“Yes. And because she has taken another Padawan. You know, Mirialan can only be trained by Mirialan and there was this other girl, Erosa Duvio, old enough to be apprenticed.” She looked, if possible, even more miserable. “I am here now only because I requested a two days respite to see a Mind Healer here at the Temple.” The bitterness in her tone had an hard edge Ahsoka had never heard in her. “I can’t bear it anymore, and it had been only two months.”

“Oh, Barriss”, she said, miserably. “I am so sorry.”

Barriss tired to break a smile. “I know you mean it, Ahsoka. Is good to have a friend like you. But tell me, how are you?”

Ahsoka stirred uncomfortably. She was treading on slippery ground. First of all, even if she remembered quite vividly many events of the Clone Wars, overall her memory was not as clear as it should be in relation to supposedly recent events. Time-travelling issues aside, war tales were obviously off the table, and so was Mortis: even if she pretended not to know that, as soon as the tale reached the Council, it would become _extremely_ classified material, she would not tell it to a possible Dark Sider. She did not know if Barriss had ever been in contact with Sidious, but she could not risk knowledge of Mortis to reach him. She settled for some part of the truth, that about her feelings, and for something that could make Barriss realize that she could trust her, that she would understand.

“I am afraid, Barriss”, she admitted, looking away. “You know, working with the Hero with No Fear and the Negotiator… I’ve had more than my share of the Dark Side. They attract Sith like Alderaan furry moths to a flame…”

Her sentence was interrupted by something unexpected… a chuckle. Ahsoka frowned, looking at Barriss in confusion. “What’s funny?”, she snapped.

“Oh, I’m sorry Ahsoka, I know you were serious, it’s just…”, Barriss answered, then stopped to give in to another fit of giggles. “I just pictured a flurry winged Count Dooku flying around.”

The image left Ahsoka dumbfounded for a moment, then she joined her friend’s giggles, and after a few seconds the two girls had cracked up laughing. They both knew it wasn’t really _that_ funny, but there was something else at work here, the innocent comfort of friendship as an anchor against the tide of war.

“Oh Barriss… I hope I never meet him, or I risk laughing in his face”, Ahsoka gasped at last.

“Your Master would be proud of you if you did, I think.”

“Oh, too proud. And it’s never a good sign when Anakin is too proud.”

Barriss giggled again. “I had missed you, Ahsoka.”

The sincerity of the declaration hit Ahsoka squarely in her chest. She might not be too late, after all, and her speech about the Dark Side could wait.

“I have missed you too, Barriss”, she told her, and she was sincere. She had indeed missed her timid, brave, generous friend, another good soul stolen by the evil of the war created by the Sith. They beamed to each other, but the moment was interrupted by the chirping of Ahsoka’s commlink.

“Tano”, she answered.

_“Ahsoka, I am waiting for you in front of the main turbolift. Where are you?”_

Master Kenobi. The Council debriefing.

“Master Kenobi, I’m coming! Sorry! Coming right now!”

“ _I see Anakin teaches by example also regarding schedules. I’ll wait for you”_ , he said before turning off the comm.

“I am sorry, Barriss, I really have to go, I have a Council report right now.” A sudden thought came to her, memories from her short life as an inhabitant of Coruscanti underworld. “I bet I’ll have a night off. What do you think about, say, a dinner in the city? I just know the perfect place, nice music, nice people… To celebrate your Knighting. How about that?”

A sudden light replaced the gloomy spark in Barriss’ eyes, and the mist that clouded them drifted away, pierced by a faint newborn sun.

“I would love to. Thank you, Ahsoka. Now go, don’t be late… And may the Force be with you.”

Ahsoka left with her heart far lighter than when she had entered the Healer’s room. It had been easy, easier than she’d thought it would be. She knew that things were not going to go always as smoothly – the forthcoming Council debriefing first of all – but she was glad to accept whatever grace the Force decided to bestow on her.

 

* * *

 

Ahsoka breathed to center herself. The last time she had waited in earnest behind the closed doors of the Jedi Council had been with Anakin, right before the Council threw her out of the Order, feeding her to Palpatine and Tarkin… the mere memory sufficed to make her shiver.

“Don’t center on your anxieties, Padawan.” A reassuring hand clasped Ahsoka’s shoulder, while its owner mirrored the reassuring physical gesture in the Force, sending a gentle wave of calming energy towards her. “Keep your concentration here and now, where it belongs.”

The quiet bouncing of hurried footsteps announced the arrival of a wayward latecomer, coming with an affectionate snort and a pair of blue eyes rolling in amused exasperation. “I leave you alone for a moment and I find you lecturing people around. Last time I checked, Ahsoka was _my_ Padawan.”

“Last time I checked, a Master ought to look after his Padawan”, was the sly retort. “Something you were clearly not doing when you decided to _go for a drink_.”

“Ops.” A lopsided, guilty grin. “Anyway, just so you know, my teaching methods would not include your deadly boring lectures, my dear old Master.”

A straight expression, only a twitch at the corner of the mouth, barely visible behind the auburn veil of a perfectly trimmed beard, betraying affectionate enjoyment. “Actually, this one was Master Jinn’s, and I endured it for twelve years. It won’t kill your Padawan for once.” A slowly spreading grin. “Though I admit it bored me to death as well.”

Ahsoka would have interrupted this bantering argument about her wellbeing assuring them both that she was not distressed at all – an obvious lie, of course – were it not for the fact that it was precisely their banter what had been able to make her forget for a moment the assembly she was going to face.

“And to think I thought you were a wise man, Obi-Wan… A wise man should learn from the mistakes of those who came before, lest history repeats itself. Or do you wish to condemn endless generations of Padawan to this awful fate, to waste away and die of boredom?”

“Apparently, my young friend, the thankless task of eradicating the evils of boredom from the revered halls of our Temple will lie entirely on your shoulders.”

“Imagine that… Another mystical mission for our favorite Chosen One.”

The bitter undertone of the sarcastic remark didn’t go unnoticed. Obi-Wan pulled on his most contrite face, looking at his former apprentice with earnest sympathy in his eyes. “Don’t center on your anxieties, Padawan.” _Too_ earnest sympathy, apparently. Ahsoka chortled, and even Anakin had to repress a grin, twisting it into an exasperated smirk.

“I pray the Force you never get another Padawan, Master Kenobi. No one deserves what I’ve been through.”

Obi-Wan’s retort died in his throat as the doors to the Council Chamber silently slid open. Their eyes met and they advanced in the order deemed by their respective ranks: Master, Knight and Padawan, a legacy of knowledge and devotion bound together now by more than the mere Jedi Code. The Force itself had crafted this trinity, placing Master and Padawan, Past and Future, at the base and the Chosen One, the eternal Present, at the vertex of this triangular blade, a weapon of Light to be thrust into the heart of Darkness.

 

* * *

 

“So. Let me get this straight.” Mace Windu leant forwards, glaring at the three Jedi in front of him with alarming sternness. “Leaving those three Force Wielders aside, you respectively managed, in what amounted as two days in the parallel universe you stumbled upon, to be turned to the Dark Side”, and his gaze shifted from Ahsoka to Obi-Wan, “to be tortured and electrocuted”, and then to Anakin, “and to kill a Force Wielder… and in the meantime you spoke with people who should be dead or with future projections of yourselves. Not to mention Padawan Tano dying and being resuscitated by Skywalker.”

“Well… yes.” Obi-Wan crafted his face in a deadpan expression. “We’ve had more boring assignments.”

Ahsoka tried to empty her mind as unbidden laughter threatened to burst from her sealed lips. The list of implausible feats they had accomplished was unsettling enough as Master Windu had presented it, even without the salacious detail of time-travel. She smiled inwardly towards Obi-Wan, who had decided to elegantly scoot past Anakin’s attempted suicide, describing the condition he had found his former Padawan in as _a deeply disturbed state of mind_.

The Korun Master sighed. “I keep thinking that putting Qui-Gon Jinn’s Padawan and Skywalker together has been one of the worst ideas this Council ever had. It was clearly begging for trouble.”

Both Obi-Wan and Anakin responded with a tight smile.

“Mmmmh… Strange news, these are. Unsettling, this is.” Yoda, the king of understatement. “Padawan Tano. Most unsettling of all is what happened to you. How feel do you, Ahsoka?”

Ahsoka was prepared to this question; Yoda had spoken the same exact words last time around, but now that she was stronger in the Force and more attentive to the Councilors’ motives and feelings, she could feel true concern behind his question, personal concern regarding her wellbeing. Warm fondness filled her heart as she remembered the vision she’d had on Lothal, when she had seen the wizened green Master waving at her, a sad smile on his face, a smile in which she had sensed remorse. She had forgiven him… but there were others she could still not forgive.

“Yes, little ‘Soka. How are you?”

The concern only betrayed by Yoda’s voice was leaking free from Master Plo’s, but she could not look at him, not yet. There would come a time when she would deal with that unhealed wound, but that moment had to wait.

“I don’t know, Master”, she replied, looking straight at Yoda while trying to keep her shields raised without making her effort apparent – fully knowing that she could manage it undetected only if none of the Masters tried to peek inside her thoughts. “I don’t actually remember dying… Only what came before and after, and a mist in between.”

“What do you remember, exactly?”, Master Windu asked sternly. She had to answer carefully now. She could not reuse her past answers, for they were no longer truthful now.

“I remember the feel of the Dark Side. I remember fighting against Master Skywalker.” Well, none of that was technically a lie, so they should not sense deception in her… hopefully. “Then something… happened. Everything became dark, for a moment. I… I saw things.” She had to swallow. That was quite an understating way of saying _I lived for sixteen years_. The Masters would never fall for it… but she had to try.

“Saw things, mmmmh? A vision, you mean?”

“Yes. Yes, I had a vision. I saw myself at the foot of a building. There was a door, and beyond a descending stairway. I could leave and go into the mist that surrounded it, or I could walk down the stairs into the darkness. I chose the stairs, and I woke up.”

“Die, did you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mmmmmh.” In her other life, Yoda had been content with her explanation. Ahsoka uneasily shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Master Skywalker, die, your Padawan did?” Apparently, this time the green Master knew that something was amiss and wanted to delve deeper into the problem.

“I… I don’t know”, Anakin admitted. “I could not feel her anymore in the Force, and physically she looked dead.” He clenched his mechanical fist in the unconscious quirk he gave into when he was upset. “Something strange happened in our training bond. It was… I…” Anakin hid her face in his hands, breathing heavily. A flicker of displeased unease stirred the air. Such a show of emotion in the Council Chamber was not something that would be taken lightly. Master Windu was about to get the floor, a stern reprimand already growing in the Force, when Anakin exhaled and resumed speaking. “When my mother died in my arms, our bond _snapped_.” Ahsoka gaped, and felt her shock reflected in the face of Master Gallia and Master Mundi and in the holoimage of Master Ti; Master Gallia and Mundi didn’t show it, but she could sense it, while for Master Ti, as a fellow Togruta Ahsoka was adept at reading the subtle twinge in the Master’s montrals that she would have not bothered to learn to hide, since nor humans nor other races could read them. Anakin _never_ talked about his past. She knew he had known his own mother only because he had told the Council he had spoken with her on Mortis, but she had never known she had died in his arms. “She was not a Force Sensitive, but she is the only person I had a bond with who has died. With Ahsoka, it was different… Yes, the bond broke, but there was still something beyond its end. I did not have the time – and the focus – to check it thoroughly, but it felt like… Like there was a void, an abyss behind us… but across the abyss, she was there still.” He swallowed. “My mother just… disappeared.”

In the ensuing silence, Ahsoka could hear her furious heartbeats, and the noise of blood thrumming in her ears was so deafening she did not feel the elusive tinge of distress in Master Kenobi, the seed of doubt taking root in his soul.

“Comforting, this is, young Skywalker. One with the Force, your Padawan never became. Where did she go, an unsolved mystery this remain. Meditate on this, I will.” The twitch in Yoda’s bat-like ears did not bode well at all. “Prodigies, this resuscitating business to your skills did, Padawan Tano. The shielding ability of a Knight I sense in you. An older soul.”

The hell Yoda was going to let her go without noticing anything.

“Yes, Master. I sense it too.” Sixteen years as Fulcrum had taught her that sometimes hiding things in plain sight was the most effective concealment. Bail Organa had elevated this strategy to a form of art when she had informed him that his promising young daughter, whom she had met totally by chance and to the apparent unhappiness of her father, was Force-sensitive – a notion that apparently had not caught him totally unprepared, probably because his former close acquaintance with Master Kenobi had given him enough insight to be able to read the signs. They had then decided to hide her from the Inquisitors right in the midst of the Imperial Senate, just under the Emperor’s nose; the strategy had proven most effecting, allowing young Leia Organa to grow up with her Force potential completely undetected. She was going to do exactly the same thing, spilling the truth in front of the Council in the hope they didn’t see it for what it really was. “What Master Skywalker did… what the Daughter did… It made me grow stronger in the Force. I find it easier now to feel it, to reach out, easier than I did before.” None of it was a lie.

“Mmmmmh… Careful with your Padawan, you must be now, Skywalker. Powerful, she has become. Her growth, acknowledge it, you must.”

Anakin lowered his head with a somber look. “I will, Master. I… I am proud of her. I will not fail her.”

Yoda nodded, apparently satisfied with the outcome of the meeting, and out of the corner of her eye Ahsoka saw Master Plo smiling. She darted her gaze away, not wanting to meet his. If the Kel Dor Master saw her caginess, he didn’t acknowledge it.

After a brief, pacified silence, Master Windu took the floor.

“Skywalker, Tano, you are dismissed. You’ll be notified your new assignments tomorrow. May the Force be with you.” He turned to his fellow councilor Kenobi, gesturing him towards his vacant seat. “Obi-Wan, take your seat, we have much to discuss. There are grim news about the Nexus situation.”

Ahsoka, faintly registering the hint at the whole business of the Citadel that she knew was about to unfold, was so befuddled at their sudden dismissal that she lingered in the center of the circular room even after Anakin had turned on his heels. Her hesitation earned her a reproaching glare from Master Windu.

“Padawan Tano, you are dismissed”, he repeated sternly.

She could not believe it. It was just like last time, only that back then she had not realized… but, apparently, _no one_ had realized. It was unbelievable.

“Masters, forgive me, I mean no disrespect. May I ask you a question?”, she asked mildly, bowing politely again to underline her deference for the revered assembly she was facing.

Obi-Wan sunk slowly on his pouf, looking at her warily, while Anakin, his features contracted in a darkened countenance, resumed his place by her side, just slightly ahead of her as his role as Master required of him.

“You may ask”, Master Windu conceded, intently studying her from above his intertwined fingers.

“Masters… Our mission to Mortis proved beyond doubt that Master Skywalker is the Chosen One, the one the Force sent us to destroy the Sith. You surely realize that his destiny cannot be merely about turning battle droids to spare parts.”

The silence that followed her bold declaration spoke more than an oratorical speech. Disquiet rippled through the Force rising like morning mist from the Councilors’ seats, drops of fear, too light to settle down, that floated in the air. Beside her, Anakin was a raging furnace barely contained.

“Ahsoka”, he growled. “Keep your tongue.”

For once in his life, Master Windu seemed to wholeheartedly agree with Anakin.

“You are dishonoring your Master, Padawan Tano, addressing the Jedi High Council thus. You should know it is not your place to judge our decisions, notably about matters that are so clearly beyond your understanding.”

“Beyond my understanding? With all due respect, Master Windu, I was there. I saw what he can do!”, she snapped, meaning so much more than they could ever comprehend. She had really seen what Anakin could do, while they had not… and she hoped they never would.

“Ahsoka!” Anakin yelled, turning towards her, cold anger in his eyes. He glared at her for a moment and she shivered under his gaze, for in the orange light of Coruscant sunset his blue eyes were tinged with a hue of yellow. Slowly, he turned back to face Master Windu and Yoda. “I beg you forgiveness for my Padawan, Masters. This ordeal had worn her out and we all need rest. Come with me, Padawan”, he ordered, his voice admitting no reply.

“Forgotten about the prophecy, we have not, young one”, Yoda intervened, placating the young Knight with a flicker of his gimer stick. “The Chosen One, he may be, but a Jedi now he is. To serve, his path is, and in this war, his service is needed.”

Defeated but not yielding yet, Ahsoka accepted the momentary setback, knowing that she had to play her cards wisely. “Masters”, she murmured, bowing, and she turned to tread in her Master’s trail; her gaze encompassed the whole Council and her heart skip a beat when she saw a flicker of regret in Master Kenobi’s eyes. He could be made an ally, and at the thought she felt some of the weight on her chest lifting.

“Go straight to your quarters and meditate on the meaning of _deference_ , Ahsoka”, Anakin grunted as soon as they were alone in the repulsorlift.

“And where are you going, Master?”, she asked, rolling her eyes. She had forgotten how unnerving an _hypocrite_ he was, lecturing her about deference, when most of his time was spent planning how to do things he was explicitly ordered not to do.

“That is none of your business, Padawan”, he stated bluntly, indirectly confirming her ill-natured guess. As soon as the lift doors slid open, he darted away, and Ahsoka registered without much surprise that the hangar lay in the direction he had taken, the sprawling temptations of Coruscant ready for him to take.

 

* * *

 

At fourth hour in the morning, Ahsoka launched Phase One of her masterful scheme to save the Chosen One. Mustering all the worst memories of nineteen years of Clone Wars, Separatists, Sith, Galactic Empire and Inquisitors, dwelling in them until her Force Signature was upset enough for her needs, she activated her commlink, calling for Anakin who, as she had foreseen, did not answer. Thus discarding her Plan A for Phase One, she set on Plan B: one of the first things Anakin had taught her was _always have a plan B._

She rushed out of her small quarters, darting madly across the desert corridors towards the wing that hosted the quarters reserved for Jedi Masters without a current Padawan.

When she reached the door of Master Kenobi’s room, she was panting. She tried to bathe in some more fearful memories before slamming her hand on the buzzer. Once. Twice. Thrice.

The sleepy figure of Obi-Wan Kenobi appeared in the doorframe and she felt infinitely guilty for waking the man up at this hour in the night. But duty came first, as he himself had taught her.

“Ahsoka. What’s happening?”, he asked, suddenly aware and vaguely worried.

“May I come in, Master? It is… classified.”

Now definitely alarmed, Kenobi gestured her inside. “By all means, Ahsoka, sit down and tell me.”

She sat on the low couch and looked at him with widened eyes. “I had a dream, Master. A vision. I know about Master Piell, I know about the plan for breaking into the Citadel. I saw that tomorrow you will summon Anakin to discuss the plan and he will propose to carbon-freeze the strike team to avoid life-scans. I saw he will decide not to include me, but you must bring me along, Master. The entrance is ray shielded and only I will fit into the ventilation shafts. You won’t be able to break in, Master. You must bring me along.”

Her plan was simple. She was going to show the Council that her purported “dreams” were totally dependable, slowly building their trust in her and moreover freeing her from totally preventable missions like that on Zygerria: it would suffice to send a force task to Kiros and prevent the Togruta kidnapping from happening in the first place. Then she would have the time to focus on the real war, the war against Sidious, against the Sith.

For now, Phase One Plan B was apparently working: the Negotiator was gaping at her, for once at utter loss for words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for your comments and kudos <3


	6. The Citadel - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I want to thank you all again for your warm response to my story. Life hasn't been kind on me these last two months and I had no time at all to spare for writing (save for writing my bloodsucking PhD thesis). I am truly sorry for this long wait, and I can't promise I can anytime soon turn back to the upload frequency of the first chapters, but I wish to let you know that I have not at all forgotten about this story and I want to see it through, so please just be a little patient :)  
> I wanted the Citadel arc to be over in a single, long chapter - I don't really like it and I don't feel so confident in writing action sequences - but it would take me even more time to finish it, so I decided it to split it in two and let you have this first, even if short, update. Hope you enjoy!  
> PS (Rebels spoiler): now that I think about it, this is my first update after the release of Rebels finale. Let us all rejoice together for our Ahsoka :)

The ghastly three-dimensional image of the Citadel pivoted slowly over the holoprojector, its spear-like shape menacing even in this immaterial form. The magnitude of the task before them, breaking into a fortress from which no-one had ever escaped, was easy to read on the faces of those who attended the meeting.

Ahsoka’s eyes wandered around the room, taking in all the tense jaws, clenched fists, twitching eyes. It was unreal, seeing her companion’s fear for the outcome of a mission she already knew would be accomplished. Last time, though in the end they had achieved their purpose, bringing the Nexus Route coordinates to the Republic, the mission had not been a total success: Master Piell had died, along with Longshot and Charger and a clone from the 212th whose name she’d never known. She had not attended the briefing then, so the sense of deja-vu was partially dimmed, but the prospect of relieving something she had already lived through was so queer she felt almost detached from what was happening in front of her.

Her eyes fell unwillingly on the stern face of Master Plo Koon, and she rapidly averted her gaze. He been staring at her for some minutes now, undoubtedly trying to decipher the sudden coldness emanating from his unofficial protégée. The word _hypocrite_ resounded restlessly in Ahsoka’s head, a condemnation she had already issued upon herself. How could she stand Anakin’s presence after the mass murderer Sith lord he had turned into had tried to kill her, but still couldn’t find in herself the strength to forgive Master Plo’s lack of faith in her?

Anakin had been driven by the Dark Side and Ahsoka was sure that Vader’s eagerness to kill her had been prompted by his desire to get rid of everything that could still link him to his past as Anakin Skywalker. Master Plo, on the other hand… He had simply not trusted her enough to keep believing in her innocence even when all the proofs seemed to stand against her. His betrayal was personal. He had been sorry afterwards, she was sure of it, but he had never reached out for her again after she had left the Order. He had abandoned her.

“Little ‘Soka. Are you sure you these visions are reliable?”

“Yes”, she replied dryly, trying to soothe the rancorous edge in her voice. “I am sure.”

“Ahsoka’s foresight has already proven reliable with that awful business involving Aurra Sing and Senator Amidala”, Master Kenobi intervened. “I think we should trust her visions. If there are indeed electromines on the Citadel walls we should gear up for free climbing, carrying jetpacks as an extreme safety measure should anyone fall.”

General Kenobi had almost finished speaking when Anakin burst hurriedly inside the room, slamming the door behind him.

“Sorry I’m late. What did I miss?” His eyes encompassed the room and took in his men with warm greeting, only to narrow to slits as they fell on Ahsoka. “What is she doing here?”, he asked, with a dangerously blank voice.

Master Kenobi pretended not to notice. “Anakin, you are late”, he stated, his nervousness betrayed by the fact he had repeated what Anakin himself had just said. “Ahsoka is here at my invitation.”

Anakin’s frown intensified, his lips thin. “ _Your_ invitation? I explicitly said I didn’t want her to get involved.”

“I know, Anakin, but there’s been a… situation.”

“Really. A situation.”

“Yes, Master”, Ahsoka interjected, not wanting Anakin to get angry on her behalf. Last thing she needed right now was to see Vader’s ghost in the depths of her Master’s blue eyes. “Yesterday night I had a vision about the mission. I saw everything. I must be in, or you won’t be able to get inside the Citadel.”

As Ahsoka updated Anakin on her vision an the plan, she saw his face tensing alarmingly.

“Well, Ahsoka, thank you for these tips”, he said when she had finished her account, his voice falsely even. “We’ll bring along a probe droid to get him through the ventilation shafts. You’ll remain here.”

“You don’t tell me what to do.”

Ahsoka regretted her words immediately. _Padawan,_ she mentally repeated to herself. She was Anakin’s Padawan, and it was in his right to tell her what to do.

“Ahsoka, mind your tongue!”, he said, his eyes darting. “I am your Master, and you will obey me.”

That word triggered something inside her. Obey to him, just like he had obeyed to his Sith Master when he had ordered him to slaughter every single Jedi in the Temple. Perhaps even the youngling. The mere thought sent her soul aflame.

“I won’t obey a wrong order”, she boldly declared.

Anakin’s anger and hurt reverberated throughout the room. The air grew suddenly cold and thin. Even the clones felt it: Rex faltered only slightly perceptibly, while Cody, less used to these emotional outbursts from Jedi, shifted his weight from one foot to another uneasily.

“You will. I am your Master, and you will remember your place, young one”, Anakin growled. “Now get out of here.”

“No.”

Obi-Wan had tried to let them sort this out by themselves, but the time had come for him to intervene, especially now that the headstrong but usually reasonable Ahsoka had unfortunately decided to imitate her Master’s worst whiny-teenager ways.

“Now, now, you two, calm down”, he said, stepping between the two fuming young Jedi. “Ahsoka, you shouldn’t really speak to your Master like that. It is very unbecoming of you and of your rank. As for you, Anakin, as sorry as I am to admit it and to involve her, I think she’s right. She must come with us.”

Anakin turned away in cold fury. “If you all will excuse us, I think that Master Kenobi and I need to speak in private for a minute. Follow me, Obi-Wan.”

Without as much as a look at him he marched out of the room. Obi-Wan shrugged, trying to pretend not to be bothered by his former Padawan ordering him around in front of their peers. He breathed to center himself. He didn’t want to fight.

“Excuse us”, he murmured as he left, following Anakin to an empty classroom at the other end of the corridor.

With an angry flick of his wrist, Anakin shut the door behind them and turned to face his former Master, who was bracing for the upcoming confrontation with a stern look on his face and his arms tugged in the opposite sleeves, the usual mien he adopted during their arguments.

“Obi-Wan.” The name of his mentor hissed from his lips in a furious growl. “How dare you overstep my role and put my own Padawan in mortal danger against my counsel, defying me in front of Master Koon and our squad? It’s insulting.”

The object of his resentment merely cocked his brow.

“Anakin, even the wisest among us sometimes need further guidance. In this particular case, _you_ do.”

“She is _my_ Padawan, Obi-Wan! My responsibility! You forced an apprentice on me and now you overstep that same authority your machinations gave me! I am not your Padawan anymore.”

“I know. But as your former Master, and as your friend, it is still my responsibility to tell you when you are wrong.”

“No.” Anakin’s growl was even lower now, the deep rumble of an earthquake. “You had no right to shame me in front of my men. You should have asked my thoughts on the matter beforehand.”

Obi-Wan sighed. He had wished to avoid this particular topic, but Anakin had cornered him – no, Anakin had cornered himself, leaving Obi-Wan no other option than to pin his wayward apprentice’s back against the wall.

“I would have, had you been anywhere to be found”, he said, trying to soothe the cold edge in his voice. “When she came to me tonight, after her vision, Ahsoka told me she had tried to contact you, but you didn’t answer her comm. I tried to contact you myself multiple times after, but in vain. You only responded to the Council summon on the emergency override channel, and you showed up to the briefing fifteen minutes late. How could I speak with you _beforehand_?” He raised his hand, imposing silence over his younger companion’s upcoming retort. “And don’t even get me started on the topic of responsibility towards your Padawan, Anakin. She needed you, and you were not there for her, she tried to contact you and you didn’t answer her calls. This is beneath you, Anakin.”

 _Where were you?_ – that was the question that burned deep in Obi-Wan’s throat, but he didn’t want to ask. For some time in the aftermath of Geonosis and in the first year of the war he had thought that Padmé had heeded his advice – his plea – to let go of Anakin, but dark doubt was now gnawing at him. He knew that the two of them, after a year of apparent estrangement, had resumed their previous friendship, rekindled during the awful affair of the Blue Plague outbreak, but Anakin’s continuous nocturnal escapades now spoke of much more than friendship.

The miscreant Jedi apparently realized to have stepped on a minefield and backed down, both physically and mentally, his shields opaque like bleached krayt dragon fangs. “I… I am sorry”, he said, lowering his gaze in defeat. “I needed to be away from the Temple. I… I had too many things in my mind. I couldn’t sleep here.”

Obi-Wan nodded, a subtle sparkle of hope rekindling in his mind. He knew what Anakin meant: notwithstanding his impressive shielding technique, Anakin had a connection to the Force so strong that, in the presence of so many other Force Sensitives, his mental barriers could be easily overwhelmed and cause him to broadcast his boiling feelings all over the sacred halls of the Temple, distressing his peers and unbalancing the younglings. Obi-Wan was still sure that Anakin had chosen Padmé’s apartment at 500 Republica as his refuge, but maybe he had been there only as a friend in search for hospitality.

He strode forwards, putting an hand over the shoulders of his apprentice in a gesture of reconciliation.

“I know, Anakin, and I would not judge you nor blame you, were it not for Ahsoka’s sake. She is your responsibility, Anakin. I didn’t tell the Council you weren’t here, but you must see that I had to do what I thought was right, since it was me Ahsoka spoke to.”

Mollified but not yet subdued, Anakin pressed on the matter.

“This doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want my Padawan anywhere near Lola Sayu”, he stated bluntly.

“She risks her life everyday on the battlefield and this doesn’t seem to bother you.”

“You know that we risk being trapped – and that death would be then the last of our problems.” He stopped, looking at his former Master in the eye. “I don’t want to see her tortured in front of me.”

“This won’t happen.”

“Easy for you to say!”, Anakin snapped. “It’s not your Padawan the one you would watch suffering!”

“Anakin, don’t tell me I don’t know what it means to see your Padawan suffer”, Obi-Wan warned him, his eyes flashing with unspoken feeling. “I watched _you_ being electrocuted and mutilated before my very eyes.”

“I was older. And it is different.” It was different, because Obi-Wan didn’t have the depth of feelings he had. He could watch his apprentice being tortured without as much as blinking. Force, Obi-Wan had watched Siri Tachi dying in his arms and had done nothing at all to the monster who had killed her, nor had he killed Tal Merrick after he threatened to kill Satine Kryze and to blast to oblivion the whole ship. And if he didn’t care enough about the women Anakin was sure he had loved – as far as love could go in his absurd, cold, Kenobi way – why would he care for an apprentice?

“Older? You were _nineteen_ ”, Obi-Wan replied, ignoring the remark about it being different – or not caring, Anakin thought. “And, anyway, we were alone against Count Dooku, a fully trained Jedi Master turned Sith. We won’t be alone this time, we won’t be facing Sith, and Ahsoka is capable and cunning, all thanks to your training.”

“Don’t blandish me, Obi-Wan, I’m too inured to your so-called negotiations to fall for them anymore. You’re not going to win me over honeying the facts with your forked tongue.”

This last sentence showed Obi-Wan the anchor he could grasp to save them both from the soaring waves of Anakin’s rage: banter, their old, warm refuge in times of crisis. The green-blue eyes of the Jedi Master sparkled with dangerous amusement, his wry humor coming to his help as it always did when their arguments took a wrong turn. “Shall we decide the outcome of this debate switching to a field of expertise more to your liking?”

Anakin blinked, dumbfounded by the sudden change of tone in the conversation. “Sorry? What would that be?”

“Aggressive negotiations”, Obi-Wan retorted deadpan, his hand flashing to the hilt of his lightsaber.

Anakin snorted, diving headfirst into the momentary respite. “I can beat you anytime, you know.”

“Only in your mind.” He grinned. “And certainly not while you are so unbalanced.”

Hit. Anakin growled. “If I’m unbalanced, that’s your fault.”

Serious again, Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, Anakin, this is all of your making. Ahsoka was truly upset when she came to me yesterday. She had a vision, and you of all people should know what that means.”

Fiery flames blazed in the blue depths of Anakin’s eyes, the truce shattered. “And you of all people should remember what I was told about what to do with my own visions: _dreams pass in time_.”

Obi-Wan shuddered, then cursed himself inwardly. How could he have been so fool as to forget something so important? He had not intended at all to hint at Anakin’s own vision.

“Anakin, I…”, he stammered. “I was talking about Ahsoka’s last vision, when she foresaw Aurra Sing’s attempt on Senator Amidala’s life. I was not referring to… I merely meant to say that her gift is trustworthy, and that it saved Padmé’s life.”

“Mine were trustworthy as well”, Anakin growled, not intending to let the matter drop. “I don’t remember you being so keen on letting me _act_ on my vision back then.”

It was the first time that painful topic was breached between them. The death of Shmi Skywalker had been overshadowed by the following battle of Geonosis, the fateful duel against Count Dooku, the outbreak of war and the loss of Anakin’s arm. Obi-Wan had secretly hoped they would never have to talk about that: the shame of his failure was a scar that had never healed.

“You didn’t see yourself in those vision, Anakin”, he tried to reason, his voice barely steady. “There was no reason to think you had to act.”

“I warn you for the last time, Obi-Wan. Don’t try to bewitch me with your words. You didn’t believe in my visions, I don’t see why you should believe in Ahsoka’s now.”

Obi-Wan dropped his gaze. “I was wrong, Anakin”, he admitted painfully, his voice little more than a whisper. “I was wrong, and your innocent mother paid with her life for my mistakes. I did not know how to handle the situation, and I made a terrible mistake. Learn from it and don’t let this happen again.”

To this, Anakin had no reply.

“Let her come, Anakin”, Obi-Wan pressed on, guiltily eager to end that difficult conversation. “Tell her you agree. She needs your approval, as do I. I do not want to do this against your will.”

“I…”

There were so many things he wanted to say. _I have forgiven you, almost. I know you didn’t believe in my visions because I never trusted you enough to speak plainly about what I saw. I know you would have helped me, had I been sincere. I am afraid to lose Ahsoka as I lost my mother. I am afraid to lose you as well, to lose Padmé. I am afraid to lose myself. My mother was not the only innocent to die that night: the women, and the children too. I slaughtered them like animals._ There were so many things he had to say. In the end, he said something else entirely.

“I will, Master.”

He bowed respectfully, like the deferential Padawan he had never been, and left to join again the others in the war room.

 

* * *

 

 

Two hours after the end of the mission briefing, Anakin decided to go looking for his Padawan. Obi-Wan’s words about his responsibilities towards her echoed painfully in his mind. Much as he loathed to admit it, his former Master had been right: he had failed Ahsoka, and not only because he had not been there when she had awoken from her vision. After all, he could not know that she was going to have those vision and he could have been away for a number of reasons. No, he had failed her because he had turned off his comm as soon as he’d reached Padmé’s apartment, because he didn’t want to be interrupted. He had completely forgotten about her, about his responsibilities. He often forgot that, for all her strength and skill, she was only a seventeen years old young girl who had just survived an awful ordeal… and she had awoken alone and frightened in the middle of the night and had reached out for him, and he had shut her out because he wanted to sleep with his secret wife. The consequence had been that Obi-Wan had promptly agreed to put her in mortal danger. He sighed, repressing his self-loathing. He could not tell her to back off now, but he could at least make sure that she completely knew the risks.

Anakin found her in one of the smaller Padawan dojos, a tiny square room outfitted for solitary practice of slow katas. The narrow space forced the trainee to keep an almost painfully strict focus on each and every single movement to avoid touching the slightly electrified walls with the training saber. The task was difficult enough with only one weapon, but what Ahsoka was doing, trying to perform a Jar’Kai kata – albeit an easy one – required outstanding abilities.

Abilities she had once had but she’d clearly lost, she grimly thought when the third consecutive misstep sent electric jolts across her arms. “ _Kriff_ ”, she growled, shutting her blades down and massaging the affected limbs. She had chosen that particular training dojo to put to the test the repercussions her decreased dimensions had on her fighting abilities, and the results were particularly underwhelming. “ _Kriff_ ”, she repeated, not finding another word apt to convey her feelings.

“Padawan, watch your tongue.” Anakin’s amused grin peeked from behind the transparisteel observation window.

Surprised at the unexpected appearance of her Master, Ahsoka clipped her sabers to her belt and exited the small room, joining him in the main corridor of the Padawan training wing. With a pang in her gut she realized that, except from their short ride across Mortis, it was the first time she was alone with Anakin since Malachor. She couldn’t really blame herself from feeling unease, since during their last confrontation he had been a Sith Lord firmly set on killing her.

“Master”, she greeted him tensely.

“Really, Ahsoka, when did you start swearing like a Weeqay pirate?”

The truthful answer, an answer she could not give, would have been that she had started cursing in a more colorful way than that appropriate for a Jedi Padawan when she had started dating a Zabrak pilot from Ord Mantell – if one could call _dating_ seeing each other once every few months, without even really knowing the other’s true identity. The memory saddened her: she had really been fond of Qevun, of his dreams of adventures and his easy humor, and his death during the bombardment of Falleen still grieved her. A new jolt of pain crossed her heart. The order for Falleen’s orbital bombardment had been issued by the Executor, Darth Vader’s flagship. Anakin’s flagship. Her young Master who was now teasing her had been, and could still be, the man who had ended the lives of so many people she had loved. She breathed and tried to focus on the present, on her past as the skinny, cheeky, lively apprentice of Anakin Skywalker.

“I learnt from you, Master”, she replied in a falsely cocky tone. Trying to remember how to be her younger self was the easiest way to forget, albeit only fleetingly, the horrors of the future she had lived in.

“I doubt it”, he said, a smug smile on his lips. “I curse in Huttese. I use _kark_ , not _kriff._ It must have been Obi-Wan. His influence is bad for you, you know.”

She saw the offhand allusion for what it was. “This has to do with him wanting me in the mission.”

“Partly”, he admitted mildly. “Let’s find somewhere we can talk alone.”

She followed him through the corridors, twisting and turning until they reached a long balcony looking out over a series of small mediation gardens, each one enclosed by walls covered by flowery vines to grant some privacy to those who sought peace and solitude. Anakin stepped into the third garden, its green space enriched by a bubbling spring from which sprouted three chirping rivulets of water that run merrily towards a waterfall channeling them into the main hydraulic system of the temple, whence it was redirected to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Ahsoka was not surprised by his choice, possibly unconsciously made: born on a desert planet, Anakin was inevitably drawn to watery places.

They sat down facing each other amidst the tall grass. It was peaceful and warm, the promise of a new spring blooming out of the coldest winter. Somehow, it saddened her.

“Master, I must come to the Citadel.”

Anakin chuckled. “No one could doubt you are my Padawan, Snips. You are headstrong, young one.”

“I learnt from the best.”

He let out another laughter, then turned somber. “You should learn from my mistakes as well. My recklessness was my downfall. My eagerness to prove myself cost me my right arm, and it nearly cost Obi-Wan’s life.”

Ahsoka lowered her head. Anakin had never spoken to her about Geonosis before. She didn’t know the details of the duel between Anakin, Obi-Wan and Dooku, and she didn’t have the courage to ask, but the fact that Anakin’s wound had been caused by his rashness didn’t surprise her. “I see, Master. But this is different. It’s just… I know I have to be there. I saw everything so clearly.” _Too clearly_ , she thought.

Anakin let his gaze wander over the tall grass and the crystalline water, his thoughts drifting back into the dangerous realm of his memories, memories of the visions he’d had about his mother. Forcing himself to leave the past behind where it belonged, safely hidden behind the powerful walls he had built in his soul, he turned back to face his young apprentice.

“Ahsoka, visions are dangerous. I do understand what you mean.” He shivered, even if the air around them was temperate, the warmth of Coruscanti artificial late spring on the brink of turning to summer heat. “I had visions myself. I could not prevent what I saw.” _Because Obi-Wan didn’t let me. Or maybe he didn’t let me because I didn’t exactly tell him what I saw._ “It still haunts me.”

A subtle, shivering ripple in the interwoven pattern of the Force prickled at Ahsoka’s nerves, sending a painful shudder through her lekku, telling her that the topic was of capital importance.

“What did you see, Master?”

Anakin’s shields slammed up, their sudden rise echoing in the Force like the explosion of a proton bomb, the shockwave so strong it almost sent Ahsoka flying backwards.

“I don’t want to talk about it”, Anakin growled, so lost in the depth of his feelings he didn’t at first realize the effect his outburst in the Force had on his Padawan; then, when he finally looked at her again, he saw the raw fear in her eyes. He took his head in his hands. Once again, he had hurt someone he cared for. “Forgive me, Snips. I really don’t want to talk about it. It’s all in the past.”

Ahsoka was afraid. Utterly, unashamedly afraid.

She had just seen, for the first time in such a clear way, the seed from which Darth Vader had been born.

In that moment, when she saw the awareness in his eyes, the knowledge of the terror he had elicited in his own apprentice, she understood to be near, so near, too near to what Master Windu would call a shatterpoint, and she knew, in the depths of her heart, that she didn’t want to trigger it. She rose on her knees and bent forward, placing her skinny hands on his shoulders, her face just mere centimeters from his.

“I understand, Master”, she said, and saw relief and joy and shame in his eyes. “I won’t ask… but you must understand that I need to come. My visions saved Senator Amidala once, and I know they will save other people too. It is the will of the Force, Master. You have to trust me on this one.”

“I do trust you, Snips.” He smiled tentatively at her, and when she reciprocated the smile warm affection filled his eyes. “You’d better not get hurt, or I’ll never forgive you.”

“I won’t”, she said simply. She waited for him to get up and take his leave, but Anakin’s gaze was wandering on the flowery bushes, unfocused. “Master..?”, she called.

“I…”

He didn’t look at her, but his eyes regained their focus and followed the convoluted course of a quite busy Endor blue butterfly.

“I wanted to apologize for not being there when you needed me, Ahsoka. I failed you.”

_Where were you when I needed you? You were selfish! You abandoned me, you failed me!_

This reverse echo of the words of Anakin’s ghost in the Lothal temple made Ahsoka falter, a fresh upsurge of pain jolting her nerves.

“Ahsoka?”

Anakin had felt her distress, and had obviously misinterpreted it, believing it was born from her sense of abandonment. She could feel his shame ablaze in the Force.

“I… Forgive me, Master, I have just not recovered yet from Mortis and my nightmares… I have nothing to forgive.” Not yet, at least. Towards the end of her time as Anakin’s apprentice she had understood that Anakin and Senator Amidala were something more than friends, and she couldn’t blame him for searching for respite at his friend/lover’s house. And, anyway, they had a record of leaving and failing each other. She was not going to blame him and let him focus on negative thoughts for these minutiae. “You didn’t leave me on my own, you knew there was Master Kenobi I could rely on. I do not blame you.”

He smiled fondly, even if shakily, his eyes warm with gratitude. “Come on then, Snips. Let’s get on with this _karkin’_ carbon-freezing business.”

 

* * *

 

It was almost _too easy_. When the war would be over at last, Ahsoka was going to try and persuade the Jedi Council – admitting, of course, that this time there would still be a Jedi Council to persuade in the first place – to divert the attention of every scholar in the Order towards the unraveling of the mysteries of time-travel: it was just so unbelievably… convenient _._

She already knew about the electromines, about the ray-shielded entrance, about the booby-trapped walls, about the need to split up to rescue both Master Piell and Grand Moff – no, Captain Tarkin.

Regrettably, the most expedient way of organizing the two rescue squads had required her to be included in the one assigned to free the man whom Qenun, her Zabrak pilot, used to aptly dub Grand Moff _Karkin_ – he had not been as linguistically selective in his choice of swear words as Anakin pretended to be, and had used any bad world the millions of tongues in use in the galaxy could afford him.

Ahsoka had detested Tarkin at first sight, a distaste which had definitely turned into pure loathing by the time of her farce trial. Against all odds, the man had accomplished the unquestionably difficult task of deepening her revulsion even further during his years as one of the highest ranking Imperial officers, among whose unpleasant assembly he had managed to be one of the most ruthless and despicable. She wasn’t really looking forward to rescue him, but that arrangement was unfortunately necessary: they were three Jedi, to become four with Master Piell, two for each squad. Only one of them was then required to rescue the Jedi Master, and it was only natural that a full-fledged Jedi Knight would be chosen for this partially solo mission instead of the Padawan.

Her machinations, however, had proven at least partly fruitful: during the mission briefing, she had shrewdly pointed out that more droids were going to be stationed where Master Piell was held. Predictably, Anakin had volunteered to take charge of this more demanding task, leaving for Ahsoka and Master Kenobi to rescue Tarkin and his clone troopers.

Ahsoka’s true purpose in baiting her Master thus had been, of course, to reduce to a minimum any intercourse between Anakin and Tarkin. Not that it would change anything in the grander scheme of things, but still, she remembered quite vividly her Master’s distinct political tendencies towards more, so to say, _centralized_ forms of government. Back then it had not bothered her as much as it should have, but now that she had seen to which point of totalitarianism his sympathies could go, she didn’t want him to get anywhere near someone who would promptly share those uncanny views. Anakin’s unfortunate friendship with the Dark Lord of the Sith was bad enough: there was no need at all to add Tarkin to the list of her Master’s unsound associates.

Of course the Jedi, as the paladins of a Republic which was, by definition, the embodiment of democracy, were not allowed to sway people’s personal beliefs, no matter how debatable they were: the cornerstone of democracy was, after all, freedom of thought.

Luckily for her, as she smugly reminded herself, she was no Jedi.

Still a bit chipper for the success of this first part of her plan, Ahsoka trotted behind Master Kenobi, her senses tense in awareness for their surroundings. Things had gone unbelievably well, and no alarm had sounded yet: they had made it as far as the cell completely undetected. Master Kenobi came to a halt in front of the cell door and the clones flattened against the wall, battle-ready, blasters aimed at the door.

The Jedi Master punched his commlink, waiting for the encrypted signal of all-clear from Anakin: they had to perfectly synchronize their attack, so that, if the alarm was raised, it would be when both were already inside the cells. The signal came and Obi-Wan waved the door open and darted inside, impaling with an almost lazy gesture one of the two BX-Series commando that guarded the door. Ahsoka somersaulted inside and decapitated the other in a single, swift movement.

“You didn’t even leave one for us”, the clone nicknamed Longshot feebly protested. She smiled fondly at him. Longshot was one of the two lives Ahsoka’s foreknowledge had already saved. Last time, he had died in a firefight before they had reached the cells, a firefight that, thanks to her knowing of the electromines, had not happened because they had not yet triggered any alarm. It felt good, so good it was almost intoxicating. Going back and saving people, preventing death from happening… Step by step, changing the fate of the universe. It was intoxicating.

The sharp howl of a deafening siren brought her back to the present. So much for not triggering the alarm. Apparently, someone in the other squad had done something to trigger it, and now the Citadel knew they were there. Ahsoka sighed. Sooner or later, it was going to happen anyway.

“Anakin”, Obi-Wan moaned, rolling his eyes. “Stealth is _not_ his specialty.” He then turned to the still appalled prisoners, who didn’t seem to believe someone had actually come for them. “Hello there”, he greeted them. “I am General Kenobi, and I am here to rescue you. Right now my collegue General Skywalker is quite noisily rescuing General Piell. If you will follow me, we should be going.”

“General Kenobi.” The hated voice of Grand Moff Tarkin echoed in the dim cell, sending creeps through Ahsoka’s spine. “I’d never thought they would send someone to rescue us. Why did you came?”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows.

“I thought you’d rather be rescued than remain in your present situation.”

“I’m not saying this is unwelcome, only that it is… unexpected. And strategically unsound.”

“We are Jedi. We do not leave our men behind, Commander Tarkin, and anyway we know you have part of the code. Now, if you please, we should really be going.”

Tarkin didn’t move.

“How could you know?”, he asked suspiciously. “When Master Piell decided to split the information between us, our communications had already gone dark.”

Obi-Wan pleasantly smiled, masking his distress at the obnoxious man’s reluctance to follow him. “This is what Jedi are for, Captain. Now please follow me”, he said, turning on his heels to offer him no more occasion to stall.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Obi-Wan… Obi-Wan!”_

“Anakin, do you copy? Have you extracted Master Piell?”

 _“Yes, yes…”_ Anakin’s voice was difficult to hear over the background blaster fire and the static charges. Some words were utterly undecipherable. _“… revert… rendezvous point B?”_

“Very well. See you there, my young friend. May the Force be with you.”

Obi-Wan switched off the commlink on his gauntlet and turned to Ahsoka.

“Anakin is with Master Piell. We’ll be meeting at rendezvous point B and from there we’ll go to the extraction point and wait for Artoo”.

Ahsoka nodded. They had decided to follow her counsel and meet before going to the extraction point: Artoo and his ship had shown last time around to be their weak spot and losing the ship meant needing an entire battle fleet to come to their rescue. It was definitely better to get Artoo out of hiding only when they were safely at the rendezvous point, and the further that was from the anticraft turrets, the better.

Master Kenobi had just stopped speaking when the clanking sound of approaching BX commando droids was heard above the scream of the wailing siren.

“Clankers incoming!”

Cody and the other three men from the 212th sprang into attack position, and as soon as the droids turned the corner of the corridor, a brutal firefight broke out.

Master Kenobi’s blade hissed into life and the Jedi run to the front of his men, protecting them with his blue saber.

Ahsoka switched her blades on and exhaled. The time of reckoning had come, the moment when she would understand how much the changes in her body would impact her combat skills.

Once she would have somersaulted across the droids, falling behind their line and starting cutting them down. Now, unsure of her abilities and facing enemies far more menacing then the useless battle-droids, she run to Master Kenobi’s side and started parrying, sending the plasma bolts back to their assailants.

Obi-Wan noticed her behavior: it was so unlike Ahsoka to stand back, almost behind his sword, limiting herself to parrying. He didn’t understand the source of her unease and didn’t have the time to ask, but reacted in the only possible way, taking upon himself the task of being the attack unit of their team, a role usually played by Anakin or his apprentice. He left Ahsoka to protect Tarkin and the clones and jumped forward, attacking the droids with vicious strikes.

Ahsoka watched him in horrified awe: back then she had never realized how much the Clone Wars had changed the Jedi. Tasked with the mission of protecting blood-and-flesh soldiers from the swarming army of droids, the Jedi had loosened their usual self-restrain and started to use – and teach – on a daily basis marks of contact such as Sai Cha, beheading, Sai Mok, cutting the opponent in half, or even the normally forbidden Mou Kei, multiple dismemberment. Except for the taboo Mou Kei, in combat against sentients those moves were usually used only to end a fight with an adversary so deadly he could be a danger not only to the fighting Jedi but to others around them as well. Of course no-one had ever forbidden bisecting or dismembering a droid, and so the savagery which ought to be a Jedi last resource now was his daily exercise. No wonder so many had swayed or fallen to the Dark Side.

As she watched the usually gentle Master Kenobi turning into a war machine, she glumly realized, more than she ever had before, that Palpatine was a genius. His plan was a masterpiece of horror, and now more than ever she was determined to stop him.

She averted her gaze from the carnage of scraps in front of her and focused again on protecting the unarmed men behind her.

The fight was vicious but short, and soon Master Kenobi had dispatched all the droids and Tarkin and his clones had taken their blasters.

Now fully armed, the group followed Kenobi’s lead, darting towards the innermost corridors of the facility, from where they could enter the maze of tunnels leading to their rendezvous point.


	7. The Citadel - Part 2

Osi Sobeck, warden of the Citadel, had already forgotten the momentary setback caused by his prisoners’ escape. Right now, he was lazily checking the status of the Citadel security measures, all the while stewing in the glee that this wonderful opportunity had brought him. He had savored this moment in anticipation since he’d had Master Piell in his custody: he knew well that, once a Jedi was caught, more would soon come to the aid of the lost comrade, and he was looking forward to it.

Breaking Jedi was his particular pleasure. He had offered his services to the Separatists long before their war had reached his homeworld of Phindar: as soon as the opportunity to wage a war on the Jedi and on the Republic had presented itself, he’d jumped at it.

His hatred for the Order had deep, old roots. In his youth on Phindar, his family had been one of the most preeminent in the Syndicat, the organization that had dominated phindian politics for a decade. They had been wealthy and all-powerful. They could afford any luxury they desired: houses, speeders, banquets, wine, women.

The parties were glorious, and the repression of those who tried to oppose them was even more so. He remembered the pleasure of his first Renewal, when with a mere click of his finger he had erased the memories of a lifetime from the mind of a lower Phindian, a man whose offence had been being chosen in Osi’s stead by a women Osi had put his eyes on. He remembered the absolute thrill of the moment when his rival’s eyes had gone blank, his body still perfectly functioning but his identity forever lost.

Osi Sobeck remembered a golden life, complete and happy.

Perfect, until the Jedi had arrived. Led by the Derrida brothers, two phindian lowlifes of the worst kind, the Jedi had overthrown the Syndicate, ruining forever Osi’s life. His family had been stripped of all its possessions and he had been forced to live as an outcast, holed up in a filthy slum, while those unworthy Phindians rejoiced in their new order and welcomed the Republic with open arms.

Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi: he still remembered the names of the culprits. Those two names had echoed in his ears for years, since the moment he’d sworn his revenge over the cold body of his father, killed by anger and heartbreak for the unjust disgrace that had befallen his family.

Some ten years before, Jinn had been graciously gutted by a very obliging Sith Lord, who had been so kind as to die before killing Kenobi as well, thus leaving him alive for Osi to take. Osi knew, of course, that he couldn’t just kill General Obi-Wan Kenobi: the man was far too important in this war for Dooku to leave him as a gift to Sobeck. But then, Osi was far too intelligent to think that what had happened to Phindar had been the making of those specific Jedi: Kenobi had merely been the hand of his obnoxious Order, a sanctimonious and supercilious organization of emasculated monks who believed that the Galaxy had to revolve around their perverted sense of morality. Well, Osi was going to show them where they could shove their precious Code. Any Jedi would do the job, and Osi hoped to have no less than four of them in his hands before the day was over. He already knew from which of them to start: the girl was going to be far more entertaining to torture than those hardened war-veterans, and the fact that she was young and quite good-looking would only add more thrill to the pleasure of torture. As for the other Jedi, being forced to watch helpless as their precious brat was being tormented would be more painful than any physical torture Osi could devise. Torture her, and he would be torturing them all: it was, as the saying went, killing two porgs with one stone.

His juicy reverie was abruptly interrupted by the obnoxious voice of his tactical droid.

“Count Dooku insists that you speak with him, Commander.”

“Well, let’s not keep him waiting”, he replied lazily. Not even the decidedly unpleasant prospect of a chat with a Sith Lord could score Osi’s cheerfulness.

“He’s already waiting, Sir.”

This did scratch, even if it just a little bit, the happy surface of Osi’s daydream about torturing the young Togruta. Osi’s hatred was all for the Jedi, but this didn’t mean he liked their Separatist counterpart any more, and Dooku was already disagreeable enough even when he was not aggravated.

He hurried to the comm room, where the blue image of the Count was waiting, a clearly displeased expression etched on his aristocratic features.

“Count Dooku, my Lord, how unexpected”, Osi prattled in his most obliging tone.

“You may cease the propriety, commander Sobeck”, the Sith replied coldly. “I understand there is a problem with the Jedi prisoner.”

Osi clenched his teeth. Nothing could escape that wretched sorcerer. Of course not, Dooku had access to the central control system of all the droids of the CIS army. It was easy to pretend to possess mystical super-powers, visions and foresight when with a gesture of your finger you had instant access to any kind data regarding half the galaxy.

“An incursion team attempted a rescue, but the situation is taken care of”, he assured the Count, keeping his voice humble and mellow.

“Are you in possession of the information the prisoner is carrying?”, Dooku asked, apparently with total disregard of Osi’s assurances.

“Not yet, but we will soon have it.”

“You are aware that this information will tip the scale of the war to the side that controls it”, Dooku paused, stroking his chin. “Perhaps this is a matter that requires my presence.”

A cold chill crept down Osi’s spine. Oh, no. Decidedly not. Osi wasn’t going to give up his prey to Dooku, leaving the Jedi for him to play with. Moreover, he was determined to show everyone that one cunning Phindian with a generous escort of droids was more than enough to stop four spineless Jedi and their creepy army of clones. And, last but not least, he earnestly wanted Dooku to remain where he was, half a galaxy away from Lola Sayu and from him.

“No, my lord”, he said, trying to keep his nervousness from showing in his voice.

“Find them, commander. Get the information. Then kill them all.”

The blue image of the Count disappeared, leaving Osi rattled and in company of no one but his useless tactical droid, the only being on which he could now take his anger out.

“Don’t ever surprise me with a transmission from Count Dooku!”, he spluttered. “I need time to prepare.”

“Yes, commander”, the droid answered, but Osi wasn’t already listening anymore. His mind was racing ahead, trying to devise the fastest and safest way to get his hands on the fugitives. He had to admit it, they had surprised him. A well-concocted plan could surely lead a squad inside Lola Sayu: good as it was, the outer security system of the Citadel could be breached. No, what surprised Osi was that they had made it as far as the cells before being detected. That should have been impossible. Hadn’t he himself been the only sentient in the whole Citadel other than the prisoners, he would have suspected a mole. Unthinkable as it was, since the Citadel droids were connected only with Dooku’s own central command system, the only possible explanation for the Jedi success was a severe security breach directly from the central system. This was grave matter, surely to be addressed as soon as possible, but right now his priority was to have the Jedi safe in his clutch before Dooku could decide to intervene and take the matter in his own hands.

In any other circumstance, Osi would have sent battalions of commando droids after the fugitives before recurring to more drastic measures. However, as things stood, it was maybe wiser to go straightaway for the hard way, unleashing his most powerful – and expensive – weapon, his own beloved pack of Outer Rim puppies to find them, and all his droids to stop them once they were found.

 

* * *

 

Ahsoka was struggling to keep her focus _in the here and now_ , as both Master Kenobi and Anakin had always told her. Long years of training kept her senses alert to catch even the faintest hint of any pursuer, but sometimes her thought just went astray, lingering in dumbfounded wonder on the events of the last few days. Malachor and Mortis. Darth Vader and Anakin. Past and future – or was it future and past? She still couldn’t tell which was what.

“Ahsoka, are you feeling unwell?”

She sighed. She should have been smart enough not to brood when Master Kenobi was near; the man was far too perceptive to be fooled as Anakin could. It was no wonder he had noticed her distress, especially after her reluctance during the firefight against the droids.

“Not unwell, Master, but neither well”, she admitted reluctantly. “I am afraid I’ve not recovered from Mortis yet.”

Kenobi nodded gravely.

“Of course, Ahsoka. It was very brave and selfless of you to come here right after that ordeal.” He smiled at her. “I am very proud of you, and I know Anakin is as well.”

Ahsoka blushed and her lips stretched into a delighted smile before she could even realize it. Master Kenobi had rarely praised her, leaving the task to Anakin, but when he had it had always been an occasion of joy for her. Now, after seventeen years without him, the joy was almost overwhelming; she fought to keep her emotions behind her shields.

“I did what I had to”, she replied, beaming.

“General Kenobi.” The haughty voice of Captain Tarkin interrupted their conversation, disrupting Ahsoka’s joy as a cloud that shadowed the sun. She just couldn’t help loathing the man. “I would really like to know what your plan is. General Piell would not like me to be left in the dark”, he said, arrogant as he had always been. Ahsoka thought that, after all, some things weren’t just meant to change.

“Of course, Captain”, Kenobi graciously conceded. “In about twenty minutes we are going to reach one of the hatches of a fuel pipeline coming from the surface. There we’ll meet General Skywalker, General Piell and their squad. From there, we’ll be heading together to the rendezvous point, where our shuttle will come to extract us.”

Tarkin cocked his brow, without even pretending to trust the Jedi.

“And what if things don’t go as planned?”

Obi-Wan pleasantly smiled, his quivering beard the only thing that betrayed his amused irritation.

“It’s when thing don’t go as planned that we Jedi are at our best, Captain”, he replied impishly.

Ahsoka smirked. It was unbecomingly satisfactory to see that despicable man put in his place by Master Kenobi.

“I see”, Tarkin replied icily. “I guess, then, that this is the reason why none of your plans for this war seems to be working properly.”

“And what do you mean by that?”, Ahsoka interjected, her already scarce patience worn out by the insufferable conceit of the man. Obi-Wan gave her a warning sideways glance.

“The Jedi code prevents you from going far enough to achieve victory, to do whatever it takes to win. The very reason why peacekeepers should not be leading a war.”

 _The Jedi code often prevents us from going far enough to achieve victory_. Those were the words Anakin had repeated after his own conversation with Tarkin, Ahsoka remembered. _A rather simple point of view,_ Kenobi had dryly replied back then. Ahsoka had to repress a grin, and wondered what the Jedi Master would say now that it was him the one Tarkin was giving his remonstrations to.

“Captain, what are we fighting for in this war?”, Kenobi asked in an easy, conversational tone.

Tarkin eyed him suspiciously. He had realized he was treading on slippery ground, but not even a verbal spar with the infamous Negotiator was enough to make him back off from his belief. Ahsoka had to concede that, obnoxious as his ideas were, he stuck to them.

“For the survival of our Republic, General. For a safe and secure society, as opposed to the anarchic chaos endorsed by the Separatists.”

“I would have phrased it differently”, Obi-Wan replied lightly. “I would have spoken about a just and democratic society. Anyway, if your foremost care is security, let me remind you that only justice, true justice can ensure security. If we now choose to cross the line between warfare and war crime, between battle and slaughter, between war and genocide, how are we better than the Separatists, Captain?”

Tarkin’s lips twitched in contempt, but no expression flashed in his stony eyes, cold and emotionless as ever.

“Spare your morals for times of peace, Master Jedi. I would gladly partake in a philosophical diatribe with you while sipping some Nubian vintage in one of Coruscant top restaurant, when nothing more remains of this war than some forgotten memorial in the capitols of backwater Outer Rim planets. But now we are at war, and morals won’t win it for us. War is a matter for soldiers, not scholars.”

Ahsoka felt almost guilty when the immediately repressed question of why in the galaxy had she saved Tarkin’s life last time around surfaced from her not-so-Jedi subconscious.

“I never knew we looked like scholars when we were protecting you and your unarmed men from a platoon of commando droids”, Obi-Wan said, blinking with fake innocence.

Tarkin snarled. “You know what I meant, General. Don’t pretend to misunderstand me, I know what a valuable asset some of your abilities are to our war effort. I’m talking about leadership, not combat. You are warriors, and I’ll concede you’re outstanding slayers, but this doesn’t make you soldiers.” Master Kenobi didn’t as much as flinch, but Ahsoka felt his outrage burning in the Force; hers was a raging furnace already. “You are vestiges of long-forgotten wars against mythical foes. These are different times, and this is an arena for men like me and the Chancellor. Soldiers and politicians against droids and radicals. Cold-minded beings who waste no precious time or resources on moral debates.”

“You seem to have forgotten the Sith”, Ahsoka hissed before Kenobi could reply.

“The Sith? Count Dooku is a former Jedi, if I remember correctly”, Tarkin said in a derogative tone. “And that woman Ventress is a poor excuse for a Sith, if the tales about those warriors of old hold some truth. Be it as it may, they are nothing a well-timed bomb couldn’t take care of.”

“You underestimate their power”, Obi-Wan said, sudden sorrow in his voice.

“I am a pragmatist. I believe what I see, General, and nothing I have seen prompts me to be afraid of any purported Sith. The Separatists are as vicious as their leader, and the only way to stop them is to meet them on their own ground.”

“Alas, this, I’m afraid, is where we will never agree, Captain. Morality is the fundamental pillar over which the democratic architecture of our Republic is built.”

“The words of an idealist, Master Kenobi. Of late, morality in our glorious Republic has been somewhat… _elusive_.”

Kenobi nodded distantly. “Ah, of course. Nothing is perfect, but everything is perfectible. That’s what ideals are for. If morality has become elusive, all the more reason to uphold to it, in the hope of restoring it once the war is over. Forego morality, and our Republic will come crashing down, descending into a spiral of violence and chaos which will likely lead to a dictatorship.”

The prophetic quality to Kenobi’s words hit Ahsoka hard, leaving her breathless as if the Jedi had punched her squarely in the chest. She stopped dead, gasping for breath, her extremities gone suddenly numb and cold, all the horrors of her life simultaneously reenacted in her mind.

“Ahsoka… what is it?”

Master Kenobi had instantly sensed her distress and was now clasping her shoulders to steady her. Gently, he pushed her down to let her sit on a rock.

“Breathe, Ahsoka. Breathe. Let go.”

She did as she was told, the old instinct of the Padawan resurfacing from the past, and let his words guide her through each breath, until she was able to properly think again. She looked him in the eyes and saw, behind the sincere concern for her wellbeing, a flicker of growing fear.

“Was it a premonition?”, he asked her, tense urgency in his voice. Behind him, Tarkin was eyeing her with hardly concealed mockery, as if she was all the confirmation he needed for his prejudices about the quirkiness of Jedi.

Her throat was sore from her effort not to scream, her eyes stung with unshed tears. In her mind, the Jedi Temple burned, Anakin burned, the Galaxy burned, while the Emperor laughed.

“Yes”, she whispered at last, not knowing what else to say.

It was then that reality came to her aid, timely but with its usual twisted sense of humor. A ghastly howl pierced the silence, giving her an easy explanation. “We are in danger. They have caught our scent. Anoobas.”

 

* * *

 

The eerie howling of the anoobas had been following them for a while when, at last, they reached the very fuel pipeline which, during Ahsoka’s first visit to the Citadel, they had used to get to the surface and join Master Kenobi’s team. This time around their roles were reverted, and they found Anakin, Master Piell and four men of the 501st waiting for them in front of the hatch.

“You are late, Obi-Wan”, Anakin greeted them.

Kenobi just rolled his eyes. They both knew that the route he’d had to take was twice as long as Anakin’s. “Must I remind you that you should have arrived here more than half an hour before me?”

“I did!”

“Then why are your man still panting? You are the one who’s late here”, Obi-Wan replied lightly.

Anakin grinned. “Oh, my bad. I forgot we stopped once or twice for a brief tête-à-tête with some overeager battle droids.”

“Make it four of five times, General”, Rex chimed in, his lips stretched in the nearest thing to a smile the man could produce. Ahsoka had to stifle a laughter. The Rex of her other life had suffered just as much as they all had if not even more, yet he had probably been the only one of those who had survived Order 66 who had been able to escape the curse of perpetual bitterness and depression. He had clung to the memories of the thing that, during the war, had made his life worth living: the bond forged in sweat and blood with his brothers and his Generals, something so strong and so true that its memory was more sweet than it was bitter, even after he’d lost all of them. She smiled at him gently and could almost feel him blush behind his helmet.

Obi-Wan sighed, shaking his head, and turned from his former Padawan to his rescued colleague. “Master Piell, am I glad to see you”, he said, smiling towards his fellow Councilor.

“So em I, Obi-Van, so em I”, Piell replied with his characteristic Lannik accent. _“_ Captain Tarrkin, are you vell _?”_ , he inquired after his Captain.

“Yes, General. I’m relieved to find you safe.”

“Kenobi and Skyvalker are tvo ov our best Jedi, Captain. Ve are in safe hands.”

“You flatter us, Evan”, Kenobi said, shrugging. “Anyway, we should be moving. We are going to have company”, he informed his party as he strode forward.

They were not going to follow the pipeline back to the surface: on Ahsoka’s suggestion, they had decided to rendezvous with Artoo on the small island where Master Plo had picked them up in Ahsoka’s past, safely away from the anti-craft turrets that back then had blown up their shuttle.

Anakin jogged to join his Master and his Padawan in the forefront.

“What kind of company?”, he enquired, more curious than worried.

“Sniffer anoobas, according to Ahsoka.”

Anakin frowned. “Anoobas?”

“We heard them howl.”

“Yeah, many beasts howl, but not all of them are as dangerous as anoobas are. Snips, how do you know they are anoobas?”

Ahsoka’s mind raced to find the first suitable answer.

“Oh, I think I read about them in a book on the wild fauna of the Belderone sector”, she replied casually, as a faint trail of cold sweat run down between her shoulder blades.

Anakin. “I doubt it. Anoobas are native of Tatooine.”

Ahsoka cursed herself inwardly. She had not told them about the anoobas beforehand because she didn’t want to provide so many details as to become too suspiciously accurate. She had decided to tell the Jedi what was strictly needed to improve their odds and lower as much as possible the risk of casualties: the thorough account of every droid or creature they could expect to face was dangerous surplus detail. Provided, of course, that she didn’t slip like she just had.

“Oh… Maybe we met one on Tatooine?”, she asked tentatively, trying to save her face by playing naïve.

“Thanks the Force we didn’t”, Anakin snorted. “Between Jabba and Dooku we had more than enough on our hands, no need to add anoobas.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know, but as soon as I heard them howl I thought _anoobas_. I must have studied them somewhere, you know, I passed Galactic Biology with full marks”, she said at last, huffing impatiently. Anakin shrugged, but Kenobi glared at her suspiciously; apparently, her deception about her so-called “premonition” had not entirely worked. She tried not to meet his eyes.

As if they had been summoned, after a few seconds a chilling howl pierced the air, followed by a chorus of growls, now coming from somewhere much closer than before.

“Positive, they’re karking anoobas”, Anakin decided. “Tatooine always spawns such pleasant creatures.”

“Just as you”, Obi-Wan observed. The right angle of his lips was curled in a teasing half-smile.

“Ah ah”, Anakin replied rolling his eyes. “You are so pleasant yourself, it’s a wonder you were not born there as well.”

“Oh, well, I’m afraid I was born in a far more… civilized system.”

“Of course you were, Master Obi-Wan Civilized Kenobi”, he scoffed, turning then towards his men. “Rex, Echo, follow me. We’ll guard the rear. Ahsoka, make sure to stay close to Tarkin. Protect the information”, he added, lowering his voice to avoid being overheard by the conceited soldier.

Clearly unimpressed with the task just appointed to her, Ahsoka rolled her eyes. As Echo and Rex turned to follow Anakin to the rear line, her inward smile found its way to her lips: they were almost there, the anoobas were closing in but still at safe distance, and they were all alive.

It was half an hour after, when she saw what was waiting for them on the island, that the smile on her lips died.

Anakin’s voice came from behind her, a low and tense growl.

“Artoo, do you copy? Fall back, buddy, don’t land. There’s a bunch of clankers right on our rendezvous point. And they have an anti-craft turret, Sith blast them.”

“At the moment, they’re more likely to blast _us_ ”, Obi-Wan sighed.

 

* * *

 

“I calculated a 97,64312 percent possibility that the Jedi would pinpoint this island as the most suitable location for an extraction point. My estimates have, as always, proven reliable.”

Osi Sobeck rolled his eyes.

“Shut up, you insufferable droid”, he blurted. “Once my puppies caught their scent it was obvious they were heading this way.”

“As you say, Captain.” Had it been outfitted with mobile sockets, the droid would probably have rolled his eyes as well.

Osi had to exercise every ounce of his forbearance to refrain from throwing the droid straight into the lava which surrounded the island. The moment was too thrilling to let that heap of stubborn circuitries spoil it for him, the view too pleasant to behold.

The islet was packed with droids. Expendable battle droids in the front rows, deadly BX commandos behind, ready to take in after the first wave of assailants had been dispatched, as they were surely going to be. Spider droids circled the deployed troops and, in the rear, two wings of STAPs were ready to take off to meet the Jedi and their clones mid-air.

In the center, like a massive cherry on top of this juicy cake, loomed the cannon, already charged and ready to blast into oblivion any pilot so reckless to try to extract the doomed fugitives.

It had been the right choice to deploy all his forces for a single battle instead of sending off platoon after platoon of droids in the attempt to catch them.

The hopelessness of their situation could not escape the Jedi. But Osi knew them, he knew that it was against impossible odds that Jedi gave their best, something they themselves were conscious of. Let them revel in this consciousness, let them hope, let them taste freedom in their mouths. His precious pets were coming, followed by another platoon of commando droids equipped with STAPs, ready to destroy the fools’ hopes.

The higher the hopes, the farther the fall.

And he was going to be there to watch them fall.

 

* * *

 

Ahsoka blinked. Thrice. She didn’t want to accept the truth of what her eyes were showing her: Osi Sobeck already waiting for them with no less than a turret ready to take down their shuttle and with many more droids than he’d ever had, while the anoobas where getting ever closer. What troubled her was not the fact they were effectively trapped: that wasn’t anything new, and she fully trusted Anakin to be able to pull some stunt and save the day. No, what terrified her was the fact that this was utterly unforeseen: it had not happened back then, why would it happen now? What had changed?

It was there, on that jagged cliff overlooking a flood of lava that realization struck at last.

The price to pay for this chance at saving Anakin was to live through the Clone Wars again, the little knowledge she had a truly slight help in the face of all she couldn’t know and all she didn’t know.

But this was about the bigger picture: Anakin, the Sith, the Galaxy… a bigger picture that was made up by hundreds, thousands of individual lives, lives that had once flowed along a course that was not going to be trodden upon again.

Every divergence she would cause from what had been would impact something else, and each single change would grow exponentially: a life saved today could mean a different outcome for a battle tomorrow, and maybe the death of someone who back then had lived… and then what this man would have done in another battle would never be, and so on and so on. Children who had been born would never come into being, while others would be conceived by people who had died in her first lifetime. She had changed and her words would change, and her actions would as well, and different actions would lead to different reactions. Even if she tried to limit the change, she could not avoid it: she didn’t _remember_ every single thing she had said or done. The past was gone, dead, left behind on Malachor. Who knew what had happened to them, to Kanan, Ezra, Hera, Rex… to Vader… to her. But they were gone, and dwelling on the past would do her no good. Her, and those who were actually there, in the new here and now.

Those people whose lives she was going to irremediably change, by merely being there: she had left behind not only her past, but the future she thought to know as well.

Just as any other weapon, the gift she’d received from the Daughter was a double-edged blade: by changing the present, she was reshaping the future, and she had no means of foretelling what was going to happen. Master Piell, Echo, Longshot, Charger, the other clones of the 212th whose names she didn’t know… the fact they hadn’t died didn’t mean they were safe yet.

 _“You have to chose”_ , the Father had said. Now she felt she had finally understood what he had meant: she had to chose how much to change, without even knowing to what those changes would ultimately lead them.

The only thing she knew for sure was the price the Galaxy would have to pay should she fail.

And now, she wondered how many of their men would die because of the different plan they had followed, prompted by her knowledge.

 

* * *

 

“I hate lava.” Kenobi’s disgruntled voice brought Ahsoka back to the present. “It’s hot and suffocating… and we find it _everywhere_.” First on Mortis, then in the awful vision the Son had sent him, with Anakin engulfed in flames… and now here. “I wish they’ll send us to Hoth next time.” He assessed the situation with a keen eye, elaborating a new battle plan on the spot. “Thanks the Force we decided to bring along some jetpacks. Evan, you and I will take my men and Anakin’s and fly down to secure the island and blow up that cannon. There are not enough jetpacks for us all”, he explained, anticipating his former Padawan’s disgruntled retort at Obi-Wan’s plan of leaving him behind, “and besides, it’s too dangerous for Captain Tarkin and his men to join the fray without a proper armor. Anakin, you’ll stay here with Ahsoka to protect them. The anoobas are closing in. Keep the men safe until we’ve secured the landing zone.”

“Roger, roger”, Anakin replied deadpan.

Obi-Wan smirked, only a fleeting moment of light-heartedness, then his expression turned grim again, his mind focused on the upcoming battle.

“I’ll keep Rex and Echo”, Anakin said. “When the anoobas arrive, we’ll need someone fully armored.”

“Very well.”

Two of the unarmored clones volunteered to take their brothers’ place in battle on the island and took the jetpacks Rex and Echo handed them.

“May the Force be with you all. Men, follow me! Or, rather”, Obi-Wan added, grabbing the spare jetpack Cody had handed him, “show me how to use this blasted thing. Oh dear Force”, he sighed. “If there’s one thing I hate more than lava, it’s flying.”

Anakin chuckled gloomily. “And right now you have to fly across a river of lava. Nice combo.”

“Don’t tell me.”

 

* * *

 

Anakin, Rex, Echo and Tarkin’s men took position crouching behind boulders and the rugged projections of rock which rose in sharp forms on the edge of the cliff. Without speaking, one of the clones handed Anakin a spare blaster rifle he’d picked up during the battle outside the cell. Ahsoka, both her lightsabers lit, stood in front of them, ready to protect the snipers as they covered their comrades’ descent.

Obi-Wan and Master Piell dove first, their sabers flurrying madly to cover the men flying behind them, but not even two Jedi could hold off forever the onslaught of laser bolts coming from more than fifty barrels. They were outnumbered ten to one. When the first bolt struck home, Ahsoka felt a ripple of agony in the Force, followed by ghastly void as the lifeless clone fell limp to the ground. The blank space left was filled by the grief of the man’s companions and by a surge of pain and guilt coming from Master Kenobi: he had been one of his men. Anakin growled and fired three bolts in rapid sequence, taking his revenge on the felon droid, piercing his metal plating on the forehead, chest and abdomen. Shrieking, the droid fell from his STAP, reaching the ground in a heap of molten metal.

His eyes closed, Anakin threw the rifle on the ground and took control of the vacant STAP, whose blazing circuitries showed that the vehicle could not be used safely again; using a strong Force Push, he sent it barreling towards the companions of the fallen droid. He guided it to hit hard the heads and the hands of the battle droids, beheading and disarming them.

“Anakin, stop it! It’s overheating!”

Momentarily distracted by the interference, Anakin stopped the STAP in mid-air, halting it in its proposed course which would have sent it hurtling between Cody and Longshot; Obi-Wan’s warning had come just in time, for the overheated vehicle exploded in the moment when it would have been right between the clones.

Anakin hissed in anger and shame.

“Stop playing and help us!”

“What the hell do you think I’m trying to do?”, he screamed back, the rifle once again in his hands, a blue bolt hitting a droid who had just crept up behind his former Master. Beside him, his men fired madly; Tarkin’s aim was as viciously accurate as his wit.

“There’s no try!”, came back the unnerving answer.

Almost all of the STAPs were, by then, down and Obi-Wan saw their window of opportunity.

“Cody, cover me from above”, he yelled as dove towards the ground, landing just slightly messily, his control of the jetpack not yet complete.

Obi-Wan stood on the edge on the island, his legs parted and his eyes closed, and outstretched his right arm in front of himself. Driven by an unseen wind, the debris of droids and vehicles soared in the air towards him, a whirlwind of molten metal and sparkling circuitries. He directed them to land gently on the ground, guiding them with the aid of the Force into forming a barricade behind which he and his men could take shelter. Cody widened his eyes: no matter how many times he’d seen what his General’s powers could do, the impressive control the Jedi had on their mystical Force always awed him, the reverential admiration tinged with a hint of unease.

“Men, get down! Take shelter!”

The clones dove, taking position beside their General, covered from above by Master Piell’s green lightsaber; the Jedi Master was still flying, trying to protect his men and, at the same time, to take down what STAPs were still airborne.

Across the barricade the seventh Sith hell was ablaze.

Obi-Wan was standing directly on the barricade, his blade a haze of blue fury spinning in circles to deflect as many bolts as he could, sending back to the droids an inferno of laser bolts. The crouched clones, protected both by their Generals and the makeshift fortification, were doing their best, shooting down the first line of lanky battle droids faster than the second line could replace them. Still, the odds were not in their favor. As soon as the last line of battle droids had been turned to scraps, the SX commandos rose to take their place, deadlier enemies equipped with deadlier weapons, sent forth by the belligerent shouts of Osi Sobeck.

“They have kriffing shields!”, Echo yelled, voicing the dismay of all his companions.

Even when all the odds were against them, nor Jedi nor clones ever lost their temper.

They kept on fighting, even as their bolts fell harmless on the advancing droids’ shields, the air echoing with the cacophony of bolts and yells and exploding circuitries.

The Force echoed with the inner screams of dying clones.

 

* * *

 

Watching the battle from above was excruciating.

Anakin, his teeth gritted and his forehead wet with sweat, kept on firing and firing and firing as his men died on the island below.

Being burned alive in a river of lava ranked very low in Anakin’s personal list of preferences on how to die, just slightly above the bottom entry which was, of course, _being smothered by sand_ ; only the fact that this kind of demise was the likeliest outcome of such a stunt without a jetpack kept him from diving head-first from the cliff down into the fray.

“Obi-Wan!”, he screamed in his commlink, his patience coming at last to an end as he saw another near-miss singeing his Master’s hair. “Take those jetpacks off!”

“We’re quite busy right now, Anakin!”, came the strained answer. “If you have a pair of handmaidens to spare to help us undress…”

Anakin grunted.

“He just can’t keep serious, can he?” He shot twice, and twice he hit nothing but the commandos’ shields.

The situation was starting to look hopeless. Many droids were already in scraps, their wreckage furiously added by Obi-Wan’s Force Pull to the barricade behind which his men were trying to find shelter, but just as many were still standing, and four more clones had fallen under the onslaught of laser bolts. Now only the two Jedi and a handful of clones were still standing; thanks the Force, not all the fallen were dead. Yet.

Five more STAPs, which until then had been left in the rear, were now taken by commando droids. They soared in the air to outflank the four survivors. Anakin shot one while Echo took down another, but the remaining three were too fast and far more skilled in evasive maneuvers than dumb battle droids. With a panicked growl, Anakin threw once again the rifle on the ground and reached out into the Force.

“Anakin! What are you doing?”

“Shut up and help me, Ahsoka!”

The three STAPs soared higher and higher as Anakin’s Force Pull drew them away from the men on the island. The droids, after some instants of circuitry confusion, apparently understood what was happening – after all, as special commandos designed specifically to ward a prison meant to hold Jedi, they were certainly programmed against such uses of the Force – and turned their weapons against Anakin.

And then Ahsoka was there, completely back into her younger self, back into the Clone Wars, her sabers raised and ready to protect her Master, shielding him in her fast Jar’Kai, sending the bolts back to the droids. She hit two and Rex dispatched the last; a stray bolt hit one of the mounts, sending it ricocheting down into the lava, while the other two, now free of their droid riders, soared gently and landed in Anakin’s firm grip.

In the corner of her eye she saw Anakin eyeing her blades with disconcert – after everything that had happened on Mortis, luckily the matter of her saber’s color had been temporarily forgotten – and… was that awe?

Yes, Anakin’s eyes shone in unabashed awe. Those blades were, after all, beautiful to behold.

Discomforted at the prospect of having to make up some excuse for what had happened to her sabers – something on the lines of _Masters I’m sorry but I don’t know, the Force works in mysterious ways_ being the likeliest choice of wording – she turned them off and clipped them to her belt, savoring the momentary respite from the firefight.

“Echo, you’re with me”, Anakin was telling his men, a puzzled expression still etched on his face. “We’ll take those STAPs and go help Obi-Wan.” He mounted the STAP and took off. “Ahsoka, the anoobas are closing in. Protect Captain Tarkin. Rex, I’m counting on you, hold your ground”, he yelled, turning his face back to look at them as he dived.

It was right then, just when Anakin and Echo were in mid-air darting through the air towards the firefight, that Rex’s yell pierced the air. “Incoming!”

The anoobas had arrived at last, followed at close range by another platoon of BX commandos mounted on STAPs.

 

* * *

 

It happened faster than they had ever expected. Ahsoka leapt to meet them, slitting the throat of one of the anoobas as she flew and stabbing another upon landing. She felt sorry for the innocent beats she had to slaughter, and she tried to kill them instantly to spare them from needless agony. Innocent or not, they were vicious and ready to maul them all in their ferocious hunger. In war, survival of the fittest was the first – and only – law.

In the deafening clamor, spinning and leaping among the relentless flashes of blaster fire, Ahsoka lunged and stabbed, desperately trying to protect the men.

Anakin was afloat, deflecting madly the storm of laser bolts coming from around him and behind me, torn between helping his Master and his Padawan in what seemed to be a lose-lose situation. Repressing a scream of furious anger behind gritted teeth, he activated his commlink with a nudge of the Force: he didn’t have an hand to spare.

“Artoo! Get here immediately! We have to get out!” He turned to Echo, trying to hide from his eyes the anguish in his heart. “Echo, follow me, to the cannon! We need to take it out before Artoo arrives.”

He could not help neither Obi-Wan nor Ahsoka now; their best hopes lay in the timely arrival of the extraction team. The only thing he could do was to secure their safe arrival, leaving the fate of both his Master and his apprentice into the hands of the Force, and the Force itself knew that, when the survival of those he loved was at stake, he didn’t trust anyone’s hands but his own. Oh, it was so hard to just let go. But this time, he had to.

With deadly focus, he darted towards the cannon, almost uncaring of the firestorm that surrounded him; he deflected the bolts without thinking, without aiming, his only purpose being to protect himself and Echo for as long as it took them to reach safely the cannon.

The Force was with him. He knew it when he felt his nerves burning in his flesh, sensed that something was amiss. Osi Sobeck had seen what they wanted to do, had probably heard his comm and was now ordering to turn the cannon against them. No, it was not against them, he realized, and his heart skipped a beat. The cannon was turning towards the cliff, where Ahsoka and Rex were protecting Tarkin and the information he carried. That son of a Sith knew that the hope of resisting Anakin Skywalker’s rage until the shuttle arrived was a fool’s hope, and so he had decided to avenge the inevitable loss of his cannon before it happened, taking his revenge on the Jedi’s apprentice. He tried to enhance his speed with the Force, but he already knew that he would be too late. With the corner of his eye, he saw Echo moving behind him, but the clone was even further than he was from the control panel of the turret. He didn’t have the time to wonder what his brave man could have in mind; every single fiber of his being was bent on twisting the laws of physics to reach the panel and blast it with his lit saber before the cannon could load the hit. Frantically, he called for Ahsoka over their bond, pleading her to get to safety, to survive, at least she had to survive, even if none of them could protect the others.

Because not even the Chosen One could protect them now, and he knew it, and his heart stopped when he saw the burst of plasma exploding from the mouth of the cannon. And then he understood what Echo had been doing, and he cared for him enough to yell “No, Echo, no!”, as the plasma bolt struck him squarely in the chest, tearing the brave clone apart in an explosion of energy and flesh and blood, killing the man who had used is own body to shield the lives of his brothers and of Anakin’s apprentice.

He felt Ahsoka’s grief exploding in the Force, he fed from her pain to give him more focus and rush his dive, and then his lightsaber hit the panel and he silenced the cannon forever and, for good measure, silenced Sobeck forever as well with a single, savage _sai cha_.

He turned just in time to see the shuttle approaching, and then the Force screamed again.

 

* * *

 

Anakin’s silent plea still echoing in her mind, her eyes wide open in horror, Ahsoka saw Echo sacrificing his live to save theirs, his body disappearing and exploding into the burst of light. The pain was too much to bear. He was dead, dead, last time they had thought him dead but he had survived, but this time he just couldn’t have, she had seen him die. And she knew that there would be no third opportunity for him, that his death was final, final as her mistakes, final as everything that was happening in this second life, a life that she desperately thought was nothing but a perverse gift worth of a Sith.

His sacrifice had not been in vain, the blast had lost much of its power, but the backlash of energy was ricocheting towards them, towards the unarmed men and towards Tarkin, that awful man who held in his memory the key to link the center of Separatist space with Coruscant, with the core of their Republic… she leapt without thinking, the selflessness of her Jedi training had always remained at the core of her being, she leapt to put her body between the blast and the men, to shield them with the Force and absorb the blunt of the underpowered blast.

In the Force, when needed, a fraction of a second could be as long as a day, could afford deep thinking and impromptu realizations. Tarkin held the coordinates of the Nexus route. Tarkin was the man who, she now understood, was going to give the information straight to the Sith Lord himself. The distraction of a moment and she lost her balance in the Force.

It was just a flash of uncertainty, it happened when her right foot touched ground, and she immediately understood the magnitude of her mistake. She had leapt too high and too strong, reaching into the Force as she was used to, but without listening to her new body; without the aid of the Force, now, the power she had used to enhance her leap was far too strong for her body to absorb. Her knee gave way under her weight; her ankle bent outward, the bone broke, her left foot never touched ground and before she could blink her body was tumbling down the cliff in free fall, and she was leaving the men unshielded and alone.

She heard Anakin screaming her name in her mind.

All went black.

 

* * *

 

“How is she?”

Master Vokara Che, Chief Healer of the Jedi Order, raised her head with a bitter mixture of compassion and annoyance at the not-so-surprising appearance of Anakin Skywalker in her office. Since when his apprentice had been brought into her care a week before after her catastrophic fall in the battle of Lola Sayu, the tortured soul of the young Knight had haunted the peace of the Halls of Healing.

“As she was yesterday and as she will be tomorrow, Anakin”, she replied sternly, suppressing a sigh only with the strength of years of training. She’d had a soft spot for sandy-haired, gangly Skywalker since he’d been a child, and the man he’d become now blatantly abused of this weakness. “I’ve been telling you for a week, I put her into healing trance and I’m not lifting it for at least another two days. The intracranial hemorrhage she suffered after the concussion was fairly severe.”

She had been telling the same spiel to the man at least ten times by now, but every time he listened to it with his eyes filled with fear, as if he couldn’t really dare to believe that his apprentice was, after all, still alive.

“The healing trance Master Kenobi put her into stabilized her, he saved her life, but she still needs to rest. Do not worry, Anakin, she will suffer no permanent damage, as long as she stays were she is until I say differently.”

Anakin sighed, rushing his hand into his hair and taking his head into his palms.

“Thank you, Master Che, thank you. I’m sorry I have to ask, but are you sure she’ll be ready in two days?”

Vokara frowned. “I can’t promise you anything, but I’m quite positive she won’t need more than another thirty-six hours. Why are you asking?”

Anakin stumbled. “I… I have been asked to escort Senator Amidala to Mon Cala. King Kolina has been murdered and the Quarren and Mon Calamari are in uproar for the succession. Senator Amidala has been asked to mediate between the parties, and I’ve been assigned to escort her. You know, we’ve worked together before”, he added, a little bit too hurriedly for the remark to go unnoticed, but Vokara didn’t change her expression. Apparently, Anakin was still convinced no one in the Order suspected of his affair with the Senator. “I wanted to make sure I’ll still be here when she awakes”, he said, his voice so helpless it made Vokara want to, alternatively, slap him or offer him some chocolate. She resolved to have a word with his former Master instead.

“If she’s fit, I’ll make sure to lift the trance before you leave, Anakin.”

He exhaled in relief. “May I see her now?”

Vokara snorted, then smiled at him affectionately. “Force’s sake, Anakin, you may be a General now but you still behave like that impatient urchin from Tatooine.”

Anakin reciprocated her smile, but it didn’t touch his eyes. Back then, Vokara had been one of the apprentices in the healer’s ward, and one of the few Jedi to welcome Anakin to the Temple with curious affection rather than cautious distaste. He was rather fond of her, but he believed that only her misplaced affection could let her see in him anything of the sweet slave boy he’d once been. The sweet boy he was no more. “Sometimes I wish I was him still”, he whispered in a moment of frailty, regretting his words as soon as they left his lips. But Vokara understood, as she always did.

“I wish it too”, she replied. “Not even our Younglings are children anymore, not since the war. Go to your Padawan, but don’t give in to emotion, you’ll risk to unbalance her.”

Anakin shivered. “I won’t go then… I don’t want to put her at risk”, he whispered, his face ashen.

Vokara rolled her eyes. “Are you a Jedi or not, Skywalker? I have not forgotten what you did last time I told you not to unbalance one of my patients… If I recall correctly, you gave your Master seizures. But I trust you’ve grown out of your bad habits. And, anyway”, she added gently, “Kenobi is already there with your Padawan. He came to visit her with Plo. I believe he’ll be able to keep you in check.”

Anakin blushed. The Healer made him always feel like a child, but in a sort of comforting way.

“Thank you, Master”, he said, bowing in deferent affection before leaving.

 

* * *

 

Anakin entered the small room where Ahsoka lay walking on his tiptoes, trying to keep as quiet as he could.

“Your Force signature is in such a turmoil that you could not make more noise if you entered marching with a fanfare”, Obi-Wan teased him, his voice oddly strained despite the joking tone.

“Very funny”, Anakin replied, advancing towards is sleeping Padawan with his heart clutched in apprehension. “How is she?”

“As Master Vokara has told you around ten times by now, she is into healing trance. She will be fine, Anakin, she is just sleeping as the Force mends her body. Relax.”

“Yes, yes, relax”, he snorted. “And how are you heading your own advice, Master? You look like a starved eopie.”

Obi-Wan sneered. “Your metaphors are getting more and more fanciful as the years pass, my young friend. Have you ever considered hanging up your lightsaber to become a poet?”

“You have no idea what you just reminded me of. After that mission on Moraga – the nest of gundarks, remember? – Garen Muln and I decided to immortalize your glorious deeds with the gundark matriarch in poetry… We called it “ _The ballad of the saber in the nest_ ” if I remember it right… I must find the manuscript and hand it to Waxer and Boil, they’ll love it.”

Obi-Wan grunted, his cheeks slightly tinged in red. “Why in the galaxy did I leave a seventeen-years-old with that reprobate… I failed as a Master, and now I’m afraid I’ll pay the price.”

Anakin laughed, his first laughter since Ahsoka’s incident. “Indeed you will.”

“I’ll see that Cody court-martials anyone who reads such gibberish.”

“I bet Cody will be the first to laugh at you behind your back, General Kenobi. Anyway”, he added, turning somber again as his eyes fell on the removed face of his wounded apprentice, “Master Che told me you were here with Master Plo… Are they back from Felucia? I should have gone there with Ahsoka after the Citadel, you know… How did it end? And where is he now? I thought he’d stay longer.”

Obi-Wan averted his eyes and sighed.

“Oh, it ended well, from the military point of view. They secured the fort and drove the Separatists away… Master Plo is with Depa now. She’s here next room.”

Anakin shook his head. “I’m sorry. Are her wounds severe?”

Obi-Wan’s lips thinned, his eyes obscured by deep sorrow.

“No, she is unhurt, in the body. It’s her soul that has been wounded.” He sighed. “You know Depa has been fighting the Dark Side for years now. I took on her seat on the Council when she could not serve anymore. She’s had a relapse.”

Anakin’s eyes widened in horror, and he gripped Obi-Wan’s shoulder with his flesh-and-bone hand. He knew they were close.

“I… I’m so sorry, Obi-Wan. This war is taking its toll on all of us, and more so on those who already struggle”, he said, unable to hide the bitter edge in his voice.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just… Her Padawan went missing. He was there, with the clones, and then he just disappeared. No one knows what happened.” He put his hand on Anakin’s, understanding the horror that his former Padawan leaked in the Force at the thought that it could have been Ahsoka. “I met him once in one of my classes, a smart and curious boy. He would have made a great Jedi.” He shook his head, his dismay clearly etched on his features. “Caleb Dume. He was only thirteen. ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I wrote this I didn't realize that Caleb hadn't actually been apprenticed yet, since in the official timeline his apprenticeship starts right after the second battle of Christophsis; I hope you will forgive me this continuity error.


	8. Focus and reality

Low above the horizon, Coruscant Prime was gently drifting towards merciful sleep. Its orange rays stretched across the upper levels of the city like a deluge of tinged waters that flooded among the cliffs created by late afternoon long shadows. At this hour, even the traffic jam of rush hour had a calm quality to it: the haste and urgency of the day had at last subsided and, from the speeders and the city-bikes that crowded the overburdened fly-lanes, now soared a feeling of quiet impatience, the longing of workers who wanted nothing more than to reach home and sit at the dinner table with their loved ones, were they parents, siblings, husbands, wives, mates, children, pups, hatchlings.

Amidst the orange light and the sweet homesickness of Coruscanti sunset stood the Jedi Temple, a catalyst for both the rays of the dying sun and the feelings and thoughts of the billions of living beings who were now flying towards the end of another hard day of work. Peace reigned in the silent halls of the Temple, singing in the Force across the marble walls now stained in golden red, under the shimmering fire that gleamed on the surface of water in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, between the blades of grass tickled by the small legs of the dozens of Initiates who were sitting cross-legged in the gardens to salute the drowsy sun under the attentive guide of the Order’s Grandmaster.

The Force itself floated golden and content, a placid old river that had long abandoned the bubbling rush of torrential youth and now flowed unhurried in the knowledge that, no matter how long it would take, it was its destiny to reach the sea.

In this exquisite scenery of glowing peace, a single reel rippled the constant flow of the Force, sending to the waysides the minds that unwillingly touched it.

Predictably, as Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi would say, Anakin Skywalker was the center of the reel.

Of course, Skywalker himself didn’t know it. He was slumped on a plasteel chair beside a clean and soft bed – just a faint hint of bacta smell to remind that it was a healer’s bed – where his Padawan lay unconscious. Master Vokara Che was sitting right across her, deep in meditation as she tried to tap into Ahsoka’s consciousness to lift the healing trance that kept her asleep.

The Healer’s eyes snapped open and she looked at Anakin with an irritated frown. “Anakin, will you please calm down?”, she asked drily. “You are unbalancing us all and I can’t reach her.”

“I’m sorry, Master”, the culprit gasped, hurriedly trying to soothe his nervousness. “I didn’t realize it.”

“You are broadcasting so much anxiety that I would be surprised if they weren’t sensing you as far as Dantooine”, his former Master reprimanded him, looking at him with an amused frown above his crossed arms. Obi-Wan was casually leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room, all cream linen and ginger hair, in a somewhat stark opposition with the dark brown robes of Master Plo Koon who was standing stiffly beside him, his own concern hidden behind his respirator.

“I just can’t control it”, Anakin moaned in frustration. “I’m not even that anxious, really! I trust Master Che. I don’t know why the Force needs to boost every single thing I feel to the stars.”

“Well, if doing nothing makes you hinder my efforts, make yourself useful and help me lifting the trance”, Vokara said, gesturing him to put his hands over Ahsoka’s.

Silently, Anakin nodded and clasped his hands over Ahsoka’s right hand. It was limp but warm. He closed his eyes and started to breathe rhythmically, opening his mind to the Force. He heard Vokara hissing from across Ahsoka’s bed.

“She’s already half out”, she said. “She is somewhere in between trance and sleep. Let’s finish this.”

 

* * *

 

 

_The dimly lit corridor stretches on forever into the darkness, its walls an obsessively alternate rhythm of stone pillars and the red glow of laser doors. She walks and walks for what seems like a lifetime, but there is a spring in her step. She has purpose._

_At last she finds the variant in the rhythm, someone alive behind a door. She reaches out and the laser fails. Stepping inside the cell, she can hear the prisoner’s hear beating to the rhythm of life._

_The chained Zabrak cocks his head to look at her. He is slumped across the floor in a careless, defiant position, his lips curled in a cocky smile, but in his green eyes she sees grief and loss. His once gold complexion is now a sickly beige cracked by brown markings._

_“And who are you supposed to be?”, he asks. The hoarseness in his voice shows he has not used it for some days._

_He can play smug as much as he wants, but the gauntness of his face wouldn’t fool anyone._

_“I’m Ashla, and I’m here to rescue you”, she replies, her young voice a ray of light coming from the shadows behind the grey hood._

_“I love you already, Ashla. More so if you got a spare blaster”, he tells her, faking a bright smile._

_She shrugs._

_“Here. Don’t get your expectations too high, pal”, she retorts, throwing him a small Mandalorian blaster she had holstered on her thigh. “Let’s go.”_

_They sneak out of the room, getting past the two stunned stormtroopers who were guarding the cell._

_“You didn’t kill them.”_

_It isn’t a question. It requires no answer._

_Death could await them behind every pillar but they keep going, their pace a moderate and silent jog; they meet a pair of patrols, but she just moves her hand and the guards forget to have seen of heard anyone, their eyes suddenly blank._

_He doesn’t say anything. Even after Order 66, to a worldly man this requires no explanation._

_The infinite corridor at lasts turns, and in front of them appears a freshly cut opening of circular shape in the durasteel wall, camouflaged but still discernible to an attentive eye._

_She pushes out the slab and a gush of fresh air flows in through the opening, bringing the warm scent of a flowery night. Summer is approaching. She gestures him outside, but he is a chivalrous man and makes her go first. She shrugs and slides through the opening._

_He follows her and puts the slab back in place behind them._

_She sighes in relief and turnes to her companion, just in time to see him fall to the ground, chocking._

_“Why? Why did it change? This didn’t happen last time…”, he whispers, before exhaling his last breath, but now he is no more the Zabrak prisoner, he is Echo, blindly staring into the starless sky._

_“I… I don’t know why it changed… I wanted to help, I wanted to save everyone! I failed. I failed…”_

_She whimpers and shivers and cries.. And now Echo is Rex, and Obi-Wan, and Anakin. And then Anakin rises, and he opens his arms to embrace her._

_She runs to him, trying to find solace in his arms._

_“I failed, Master. I wanted to save them, I wanted to save you. I failed.”_

_Anakin disentangles gently from their embrace. In desperate need of a word of comfort, she lifts her head to look at him in his eyes._

_Sith eyes._

_A red blade hisses to life._

_“Then you will die.”_

 

* * *

 

 

For the second time in a week, Ahsoka woke up gasping, black dread running cold in her veins.

“Skywalker, I swear on the Force this is the last time I let you into my ward.” Vokara Che’s voice was a low hiss, loaded with fake annoyance to cover the undercurrent of worry. “Breathe, child, breathe.” The soothing voice was now all for Ahsoka. “Whatever that was, it was only a dream. Your Master worries too much. He’s poured so much distress into the Force it’s a wonder we got you out of the trance”, she explained as she fussed around the bed, checking her patient’s vitals and expertly plugging an iv into her left forearm. “You are fine, really, you need not worry.”

Breathing as she was told, Ahsoka regained some composure. Blinking, she took in her surroundings. She was in the Healer’s ward, a place of quiet slumber and recovery. The orange light of sunset had set the white walls ablaze, giving some color to the otherwise somehow impersonal cleanliness of the place. Her eyes wandered to encompass her visitors. Behind the stern frown of Master Che, she saw Master Kenobi’s gentle smile and the unreadable expression of Master Plo’s half-masked face. Slowly turning to her right, when she could sense Anakin’s presence, she warily searched for his eyes, fearing that the light of the setting sun would tinge them with a yellow streak. But the Force was merciful and Anakin’s face was partly shadowed by the drifting curtains, so that his blue eyes shone clean in the penumbra. The sight of him made her inhale sharply. It wasn’t something she would soon get used to, having him again safe and whole, walking side by side with her, still on the path of Light.

“Good morning, Snips”, he shakily saluted her. “You overslept.”

“Master…” She blinked again. “What happened? Why am I here?”

“Not much, just a nasty fall”, he replied unconvincingly lightly. “Just try not to make this getting-knocked-out thing of yours become an habit.”

Thinking was hard and trying to remember was harder, but Ahsoka didn’t need her memories to know he was trying to avoid talking about why she had woken up in the Healer’s ward. She rolled her eyes and stared at him. “When?”

“Don’t you remember anything?”

She remembered Malachor, she remembered Mortis. If there was something that the Force had told her with certainty – and probably she didn’t even need the Force to know it – was that she would never forget those events.

Closing her eyes, Ahsoka tried to focus.

“The Citadel”, she whispered when memories resurfaced from the darkness. Echo had died to save them. She had tried to save Tarkin and his men, and had failed. “Master, what happened?”

Anakin sighed and looked at Master Che in a silent plea. The Healer nodded.

“Obi-Wan, Plo. Let’s give Master Skywalker some privacy with his Padawan.” She smiled at Ahsoka. “Padawan Tano, you’ll be glad to know you are fully recovered. I would advise you to spend this night here in the ward. You may be discharged tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Master Che.”

The Healer bowed her head curtly and marched out of the door following Kenobi and Koon in their trails. The door closed behind her with a gentle yet somehow final _thud_.

 

* * *

 

“This…”, Vokara Che hissed behind gritted teeth, her lekku twitching in barely repressed anger as she furiously paced the narrow space between her desk and the cabinets full of medical supplies lined against the back wall of her office, “this… this is too much”, she said at last, apparently unable to elaborate further on her distress.

“I am sorry, Vokara, but you know that Anakin never wanted to upset Ahsoka. He is too powerful, sometimes it just slips beyond his control”, Obi-Wan sighed.

The healer stopped to look at him, compassion filtering from beneath her stern gaze.

“I’m not referring to your Padawan, Obi-Wan”, she replied warily. “You know I am a flawed Jedi and I have a soft spot for Skywalker.” Obi-Wan granted her a lopsided smile that encompassed far more understanding than it should have. “I can’t bar him from hunting my halls and sowing unease among my patients.” She sighed. “It’s this war that is too much. Just this morning I had to sign yet another death certificate for a junior Padawan. Ynaua Kor’del, apprenticed to Knight Ho Nui.” With deliberate fury Vokara tapped a holopad on her desk, and from the holoprojector rose the image of a smiling Klatoonian girl, the tendrils of her head-piece gently drifting around her sleek face. “Look at her. Fifteen years old, killed by no less than seventeen laser bolts. I’m a healer, sweet Force, not a morgue officer. There are four wounded Padawans in my ward, plus Padawan Tano, and now we have a kidnapped thirteen years old. I just can’t stand it anymore, Obi-Wan, how can you?”

As she spoke, the addressed Jedi had slumped further and further down the armchair across the desk in the chief Healer office, his shoulders low, his head in his hands. He lifted it enough to let his green-blue eyes emerge between his fingers, the purple circles around them even darker in the shadows cast by his war-worn hands. “I have to, Vokara”, he said wearily. “As we all do.”

She snarled. “Have to? How can we have to send our children to war? Yes, children, let’s call them with their proper name”, she barked, anticipating any possible retort.

“I wasn’t going to contradict you. They are children indeed.” He sighed and his shoulders slumped further, so low they seemed to be going to just fall down to the floor. “Children are dying all over the Galaxy. Untrained children, caught in a war that never belonged to them.”

“A Jedi’s life is sacrifice”, Plo Koon chimed in. He was standing behind Kenobi, his right hand clutching his colleague’s shoulder. “No Jedi who can wield a lightsaber can stand behind in this war without denying this fundamental precept of our calling.”

“And answer violence with violence?”, Vokara growled. “Last time I checked, this was not the Jedi way.”

Obi-Wan rose to his feet, his weariness now giving way to frustration.

“Vokara, don’t play with our guilt. You know as well as we do that none of us wanted this. None of us wanted the Clone Wars, and surely none of us wanted the Sith to return from the tales of yore. But it happened, and we have to face it. I stand by my decision to fight in this war.”

“I’m not questioning _your_ decision. But what about the Padawans?”

“They won’t stand behind, Vokara, you know that. Anakin came to rescue me on Geonosis, and that was even before there was a war. Not even Bariss Offee could stand behind when Luminara volunteered, and as a fellow Healer you should know how much she hates to step into battle.”

“Anakin was nineteen and Barriss eighteen”, Vokara roared. “Still too young, of course, but here we are talking about a fifteen years old girl dead! And Caleb Dume was thirteen! At this rate in a month we’ll be enlisting the toddlers in the crèche.”

“Don’t overreact, Vokara. It’s not like this is something new. Thirteen years old is exactly the age I was on Melida/Daan”, Obi-Wan replied bitterly. “We have always dragged our children to war.”

Vokara opened her eyes wide in stupor. Only a few Jedi knew of Melida/Daan, and even those didn’t dare reminding Obi-Wan of those awful months. They all knew he never spoke about it.

“Yes”, she whispered. “Does this mean it is right?”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes.

“No. I’m afraid it means we have lost sight of what is right long ago and that now we must face the consequences of our choices.”

Warily, the Twi’lek healer sat down facing the man who had so often been her patient that now, notwithstanding his known reservations about healers, he had somehow become a close friend and a confidant. There was nothing more to be said, so they remained silent, facing in mutual horror the waves of darkness that came from the room where Depa Billaba lay. The Force shivered with them.

Plo Koon sighed. “Vokara, what do you think about Ahsoka’s nightmare? I sensed a deep darkness in her.” His grim words sent another sizzle of shivers through the Force.

“I sensed it too”, Vokara convened somberly. “But I wouldn’t say that it was in her. I sensed she was fighting the darkness she felt around her. I fear that Skywalker’s anxiety unbalanced her and, in her state, she was more vulnerable. I presume she felt Depa.”

Plo nodded. “I worded it badly. There is no darkness in Ahsoka. Yet I feel something different in her. She is… tired. Weary.”

“Sad”, Obi-Wan added gloomily. “What happened on Mortis changed her.”

Plo Koon frowned. “Obi-Wan, forgive me”, he said, slowly moving to face his friend. “I do not mean to offend you. You know I like Skywalker. Still, sometimes I think that giving him a Padawan was not a good idea.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “No offence taken”, he replied. “I understand what you mean. At first I tried myself to dissuade Yoda from this idea.” He shook his head. “Now I think he was right. Anakin and Ahsoka share a deep connection; they both are prone to attachment. They need to learn to work it through, and this is something that can be taught only by experience.”

“Ahsoka has always been like that.” Plo sighed. “They are both so young.”

“Indeed they are. As soon as Vokara discharges her, I will talk to her.”

“So will I.”

“Why do I have the feeling that tomorrow night I will find Ahsoka here with the worst headache the galaxy remembers?”, Vokara sighed in dismay, before shooing her fellow Jedi out of her office. There was too much work she had to do.

 

* * *

 

Ahsoka stared blankly at the wall, trying to fight back tears of frustration and grief. Thankfully, the sun had now gone down, so any escapee drop of moisture would be concealed in the dusk of twilight.

“I failed them”, she moaned. Her dream had been somehow prophetic. A daring break-out of her past life against this replay of the Citadel mission to remind her that playing with the future meant to play with life and death.

“Ahsoka, none of it was your responsibility”, Anakin said, trying to soothe her guilt. “You weren’t even supposed to be there. It’s not your fault Echo died and it’s not your fault Tarkin was wounded. Of course I hope he’ll be alright, but even in the unfortunate case he doesn’t wake up from his coma, at least the Separatist will never get their hands on the coordinates.”

“I hoped that my foreknowledge would save everyone”, Ahsoka sighed.

Anakin stiffened beside her. “Foreknowledge is a double-edged sword, Ahsoka”, he said bitterly. “And, in any case, who knows what would have happened without your insight.”

He couldn’t know that Ahsoka knew exactly what would have happened. A life for a life, Echo’s for Master Piell’s. Damn one to save the other. Was it worth it? Could she do it, to willingly doom other people in order to save Anakin?

 _Yes_ , said a disturbing voice in her head.

“The mission would have failed”, Anakin insisted.

Only that it would not: Ahsoka would have been trusted with Master Piell’s half of the information and, after a long debate in the Council, the full coordinates would have been given to the Chancellor. At least Ahsoka could take comfort in the notion that no campaign would be hindered by the loss of this precious information. Back in her past timeline, Palpatine had decided that, now that the information was secured from the Separatists, the Republic would not stoop to their level and attack the heart of Separatist Space to kill civilians in planetary bombing. The Nexus Route, after all, had never been used…

Ahsoka froze in her line of thought. Planetary bombing. A route from the heart of Separatist Space to the heart of the Republic… to Coruscant. Hastily, she rose her shields to hide her shock from Anakin. The Nexus Route had been used by Grievous’ fleet attack Coruscant in that mimicry of a kidnapping. Palpatine had wanted to secure the coordinates in order to let the Jedi believe that Coruscant was safe – had the Separatists got their hands on them, half of the Republic would have been deployed to secure the planet, making it impossible for Grievous to penetrate its defenses. Then he must have secretly given the information to Dooku… _That kriffin’ bastard._

Only that now the Battle of Coruscant would never take place.

The loss of this milestone in her countdown to the rise of the Empire hit her hard. She would have to think it through, to devise a strategy, to change her plans, but not now, not with Anakin by her side.

She turned to him and forced her lips to smile, her mind still numb for the shock.

“I know, Master. We will never know. How is Rex?”

Anakin darkened. “He took it hard”, he said. “I am very sorry for all of them. But it’s not your fault, Ahsoka. We cannot save everyone.” On these last words, his voice gained a hard, metallic sound. It made her shiver.

“You told me you are leaving soon”, she said, changing the subject. “Where for?”, she asked, even if obviously she already knew.

“Mon Cala”, he replied. “The Mon Calamari king has been killed and there is unrest. Senator Amidala is in charge of supervising the negotiations between the Mon Calamari and the Quarren. I’m to be her bodyguard.”

Even in her distress, Ahsoka had to suppress a chuckle. She had never understood if the Council was really so naïve as to think that there was no risk in assigning on a regular basis a handsome young Jedi as a bodyguard to a beautiful young Senator or if there was indeed a conniving policy of _don’t ask don’t tell_ going on.

“Say hello to Padmé for me, will you?”, she asked, her eyes suddenly wet at the thought that she would see once again the kind woman who had always regarded her as a younger sister. Padmé’s death had pained her greatly, and of her death she was sure: a close-up of her beautiful, still face on the day of her funeral had been broadcasted all over the galaxy right after the rise of the Empire.

Anakin, blissfully clueless, misunderstood the reason of her emotion and stroke her cheek gently with the back of his hand.

“Snips, don’t cry. Obi-Wan would whip me if he saw you crying”, he smirked. “I won’t be away long, I promise.”

She silently nodded. A sudden lump in her throat prevented any attempt at speaking.

“I’ll leave you into his care. He is on leave for a week. If he lectures too much, comm me and I’ll deal with him.”

Ahsoka found her voice again to laugh, albeit shakily. “I’m counting on you for that, Skyguy.” Using that old, stupid – so, so stupid – nickname once again was honey on her tongue. A sudden memory flashed in her mind, charged with foreboding. “And… Master.” Anakin looked at her questioningly, surprised at the sudden gravity of her voice. “Please, remember to firmly secure your helmet before battle. I don’t want you to drown.”

He blinked. “I’m going to Mon Cala for negotiations, not for battle. And what about my helmet?”

“I don’t know, just in case negotiations turn into _aggressive_ negotiations as they usually do.” They shared a grin and Ahsoka reached out to fleetingly grasp his hand. “I have a bad feeling about your helmet.”

Anakin snorted. “No need to remind me I can’t swim. Not all of us are so lucky as to be thrown into the Temple pools at three years of age.” He got on his feet and smiled down at her. “Anyway, I will pay attention. I promise. Goodbye, Snips.”

He was almost at the door when she remembered that something was amiss in their farewell.

“Master”, she called. Anakin turned, a line of worry on his forehead. Ahsoka smiled. “May the Force be with you.”

He relaxed and smiled back.

“May the Force be with you, Padawan.”

That night, after hours of meditation and of difficult decisions permeated by the knowledge that she was holding the destinies of both Anakin and the Galaxy in her hands, Ahsoka fell asleep to the image of her Master cheerfully waving at her from the door. She didn’t dream.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Ahsoka did as soon as Vokara Che discharged her was… _frivolous_. In all honesty, that was the only fitting description. One of Anakin’s favorite adages – he could mock Kenobi as much as he wanted but he was just as prone to lecture her with sage maxims as his former Master had been – was _your focus determines your reality._

There was wisdom in those words, Jedi wisdom, and Ahsoka had no intention of denying their truth. Still, in seventeen years without the Order, she had gained a more worldly wisdom and had learnt that there were other things beside focus that could determine one’s reality.

One of those was appearance, and right now her appearance was that of the cocky, exuberant, self-confident teenager she was no more.

The first thing she did that morning was then to stride towards the Temple tailor shop.

The tailor droid, PS-T7, greeted her warmly. “Padawan Tano”, he saluted with a respectful bow. “Are you here for the season change? A linen dress to face summer with a cool head?”

Ahsoka bowed grinning. Not even two centuries spent tailoring tunics for the Jedi Order had been able to completely override T7’s original standard programming, which had entailed the ability to design innovative and good-looking pieces of clothing for its clients, an ability that was sadly put to use too seldom for his likings. It was no wonder he had always been fond of Ahsoka and her sense of fashion; he used to say that she and Aayla Secura were the only reasons why he had not yet short-circuited of boredom.

Therefore, T7 was far less pleased with her than his usual: her decision to opt for light gray leggings, a cream linen undertunic and a light green tunic of the same material, with loose skirt and low neck, had left him unimpressed; at least, he had commended her choice of Akul-hide for her belt and boots. “I thought that being Skywalker’s Padawan would make you bolder, not duller”, he grumbled as she looked at her reflection in the mirror.

 _Well, old age makes people duller_ , she thought as she took her leave from the displeased droid and made for her quarters. She was extremely happy with her choice; her old outfit had made her uneasy. It had nothing to do with modesty, just as her choices from back then had had nothing to do with showing off. She had simply outgrown her teenage taste in clothes and preferred now lighter colors and softer fabrics. Moreover, the deep crimson of her old dress, a color which she had always favored because it objectively suited the color pattern of her montrals, reminded her of too many things of the same color, dark things, Sith things.

Her new appearance focused her new reality, she thought almost defiantly as, back in her room so full of memories, she clipped her silver lightsabers at her belt.

Her new reality was to bear the colors of the Daughter as she carried out the mission bestowed upon her by the embodiment of Light itself.

 

* * *

 

 

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, Member of the Jedi High Council, General of the Grand Army of the Republic, couldn’t seem able to find in himself the necessary strength to leave the warm comfort of his bed. His mind lazily wondered how his former Padawan would react in seeing him in such an undignified circumstance. Anyway, he didn’t feel even remotely guilty: only the Force knew how much he needed some sleep. He was about to doze off again when a nervous knock on his door forced him to open his bleary eyes.

“In the name of…”, he muttered, rolling on his side and trying to untangle himself from the warmth of his blankets.

“Coming…”, he moaned, finally free from the clutches of his bed, stumbling out of his small bedroom into the equally small living room, all the while trying to fix his tousled hair with an hand putting his tunics on with the other.

He opened the apartment door to find Ahsoka standing on the doorframe with a confident grace he didn’t remember she had ever possessed. She greeted him with a respectful bow.

“Master Kenobi.”

“Ahsoka.” He eyed her from montrals to toe. “Nice suit.”

She beamed at him. “I thought you would approve of it.”

“At least my Grandpadawan seems to have at last come to her senses concerning the proper colors for a Jedi”, he sighed with a lopsided smile. “Will you keep me company in my very late breakfast?”

Ahsoka stiffened, suddenly alarmed.

“Oh, Master, forgive, I didn’t think…”

Obi-Wan grinned, interrupting her.

“Ahsoka, you made me a favor in waking me up. It’s unbefitting a Jedi to linger in bed. But please”, he added, with a mischievous smile, “ do me another favor and don’t tell Anakin I overslept. This will be our little secret.”

Ahsoka laughed, then stiffened again and lowered her gaze.

“I’m afraid this won’t be the only secret we’ll share today, Master”, she whispered. “Anyway, I’ll be glad to keep you company.”

Suddenly more wary of the upcoming conversation, Obi-Wan stepped aside, letting Ahsoka into his room.

“Come in. Make yourself at home. As far as we can call this home”, he added.

Upon her first look at the room she understood what he meant. The small things that made a room _home_ where nowhere to be seen, things such as plants or souvenirs from distant planets on the shelves above the couch, bottles and jars in the small kitchen compartment… things that were traces of a life lived inside that room. Not that Jedi used to have many personal possessions: by the Code, they had none, but everyone of them had some items they called _theirs_. Ahsoka herself had in her room an old rag doll that not even the crèche Master had had the heart to make her leave behind. She also had things such as a small Kel Dor statue that Master Ploo had brought her from a visit to his homeworld, a dried wreath of flowers gifted her from the inhabitants of Maridun in thanks for her help against the Separatist and, her dearest, a Tatooine flamegem, a gift from her Master.

Anakin had gathered it during their mission to rescue Rotta the Huttlet, at the very start of her partnership. She knew that the gift was her Master’s unspoken way of telling her that he cared, and to ask her forgiveness for the fact that he had not wanted to speak with her about his past.

Obi-Wan’s small possessions, along with his renowned vast collection of datapads, were probably the content of the plasteel boxes stacked beside the small workbench.

“Have you lived here for long, Master?”, she asked, taking a seat at the small table as Obi-Wan put the kettle on the stove.

“Since I was made General”, he replied.

Two years. In two years he had not had the time – or the inclination – to empty those crates and make himself a home.

“I used to live in the quarters I once shared with my Master Qui-Gon Jinn; I had Anakin move in when I took him as my apprentice and I left after he was Knighted. Masters with younger Padawans needed those quarters more than I did”.

“Leaving must have been hard for you”, she said softly.

Obi-Wan scowled, slowly sitting across the table.

“I believe that at this point I’m supposed to remind you that a Jedi does not form attachments, nor to people nor to things or places. A lesson which, I’m afraid, you Masters fails spectacularly to, as he says, _teach by example_ ”, he said, smiling. “I’m afraid I’ve only myself to blame for that. Anyway, I won’t lie to you. It was hard, but not harder than staying after my Master’s death”, he said, stroking his chin in a gesture so typical of him that it made Ahsoka’s heart ache.

She turned her eyes from his face, and her gaze fell upon a small transparent box, inside which were a long Padawan braid and a Tatooine flamegem, identical to her own.

Obi-Wan had followed her gazed and sighed. He summoned the box with the Force, letting it slowly drift towards the table, where it landed with a soft thud.

 _So long for frivolous uses of the Force, Master Kenobi. Now I know where Anakin took his bad habit of_ do as I say, not as I do, Ahsoka thought.

Another flicker of the Force and the braid was in his hand.

“My Padawan braid. It’s the only thing I’ve left of my Master: the memory of his teachings. He died before I was Knighted.”

Ahsoka knew the story. She’d been only four back then, but the tale of that fatal duel, the first encounter of a Jedi and a Sith in a thousand years… it had been the favorite bedtime scary tale in the crèche. The portentous battle between a Padawan and a black-and-red tattooed horned monster born from the seventh Sith hell, blue lightsaber against a red saberstaff, had eclipsed the pain that written between the lines of this tale that, back then, had seemed to have emerged from a long forgotten epic.

“I wish I’d known him”, she murmured, not knowing what else to say.

“You would have gotten along well”, he pondered. “My Master was an adept of the Living Force and you are very attuned to it. More than your Master or I ever were.”

Ahsoka’s eyes fell again on the copper braid in Kenobi’s hand

“I thought it was Anakin’s braid, actually”, she said.

“Anakin never gave me his braid.”

“What?” Ahsoka couldn’t stop herself from snapping. That was outrageous. “Why?”, she added with a whisper.

“His reasons are his own”, Obi-Wan replied, his voice suddenly hard. He sighed, then mollified. “Mind you, Ahsoka, I don’t resent him. I think I know his reasons, and much as I disagree I can’t blame him. And Anakin gave me much more than a braid. He gave up his right arm to save my life, and he did so mere minutes after I forced him to leave behind on the battlefield someone he cared for and could possibly be dead.”

The merciful kettle started wheezing, giving Obi-Wan the opportunity of busying himself serving tea. Ahsoka jumped at the chance to change subject.

“I recognize the firegem. He gave me one just like it, after we came back from Tatooine.”

Obi-Wan managed a smile and offered her a cup of smoking tea that she gladly accepted. The deep scent of spices pleasantly filled her nostrils. Something in it reminded her of the highlands of Shili.

“Yes, he gave me the stone that same day. I value it much more than his braid, for this gem is something from his past before the Jedi. Before me.” He grinned. “Now I’m looking forward to add something from my Granpadawan, since I’m not hoping to receive a gift from my Grandmaster anytime soon”, he said, his typical half-amused smile back on his lips.

Ahsoka chortled. “Well, if you don’t count battle droids.”

“Oh, my bad, I never thought of them as gifts.” He grinned. “I will thank him next time we meet. Anyway”, he added, lowering his mug, “I don’t think you came here to discuss training gifts with me. What troubles you, Ahsoka? You’ve not been the same since Mortis.”

Ahsoka braced herself for what was to come.

“Master, you have no idea how right you are”, she sighed. “Anyway, before I start speaking, I think you’d better double-shield yourself. We don’t want the whole Temple to know and, believe me, what I’m going to tell you would crack even Master Yoda’s shields.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was meant to be only the first part of a chapter became actually a chapter on its own. Therefore, I have the second part, which has become chapter 9, almost ready. I'm telling you this because I won't have time to write during the next month, so I let it up to you to decide if I should post the new chapter as soon as it's ready (which I'm positive will be in the next two days) or to wait for two weeks to give you something between this and the next update, which will surely take long to come. I swear this is not a cheap trick to boost my comments stats, it's just that I feel equally guilty in withholding a complete chapter as I do in leaving you for more than a month without updates.
> 
> As always, thank you all for your kudos and your comments.


	9. Blood and Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I was about to post it when I decided I didn't like the way it had turned out so I rewrote it from scraps. Enjoy :) PS: I did some minor edits after posting, correcting some errors and doing some formal changes - nothing too substantial.

Tendrils of spiced fume rose in sunlit spirals from the twin terracotta mugs that both Obi-Wan and Ahsoka clasped in their hands; together with the frugal breakfast set on the table – a brick of blue milk, a bowl of chopped muja and some Temple-made biscuits –they created a picture that, for any casual onlooker, would have been one of daily routine, homely even. Only a shrewder observer would have been able to grasp the elusive signals indicating that something, in that cozy image, was off. Even in the Force, the ripples of disquiet emanating from the two diners were hidden behind adamantine shields. Only the slightly askew line of Obi-Wan thinned lips and the subtle hint of tautness in Ahsoka’s lekku betrayed the underlying tension. A more immediate sign was, perhaps, the half-bit cookie that lie abandoned near Obi-Wan’s saucer, forgotten since the moment the Jedi had diverted his attention from breaking his fast to his Grandpadawan’s tale.

“You sound ominous, Ahsoka”, Obi-Wan noted, breaking the tense silence that had followed her unpromising warning.

“I do indeed”, she sighed. “I wish I could spare you all of this, Master, but I can’t. I realized that this is something I can’t do on my own.”

Obi-Wan took a sip of his tea and put down the mug, readjusting his posture in a graciously casual slump, his right ankle resting on his left knee; only his pointed stare betrayed his concern.

“I will do what I can to help you, Ahsoka”, he said encouragingly. “I’m all ears.”

Not able to bear his gaze, Ahsoka stared at her own boiling mug. After some uneasy moments, she inhaled sharply, reading herself for the plunge. “Master, what I have to tell you is…” She paused again, searching for the right word and not finding any that truly satisfied her, notwithstanding the long hours she had spent rehearsing her speech. “Well, let’s say… _preposterous_.”

Obi-Wan’s features were set in his usual sardonic mien that had become the armor behind which he concealed his emotions and fears. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”, he sighed. “After all, we are talking about Mortis.”

Ahsoka chuckled nervously. “Well, if you put it like that… that place has its share of oddities, no doubt.”

“Quite an understatement,” he agreed. “Are you suggesting that what you are going to tell me is even more preposterous than Anakin bringing you back from death?”

“So you do believe that I died and Anakin resurrected me?”

The Negotiator’s usual calm demeanor faltered slightly under the ease with which Ahsoka spoke of her own purported death.

“I have to admit that, had I not been there to witness it, I would not have believed it possible”, he phrased slowly.

“You witnessed that with your eyes, yes. But what did the Force tell you, Master? What did you sense?”

“I don’t think I need tell you I sensed a great disturbance”, he replied lightly, eyeing her under the ironic mask he had quickly put back on. It was so like him, to assuage the mood with a light-hearted remark, even in the face of such a subject. Smiling faintly, Ahsoka felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease off.

“No, too predictable. Not your style, Master, I’d be disappointed.”

“Far be it from me to ever disappoint you, Ahsoka”, he smiled back. “Jokes aside”, he murmured, “I felt a momentous shift.” He paused, his eyes unfocused. “It reminded me of Skylah and Karr-Di”, he said, his gaze still lost in reverie.

It was Ahsoka’s turn to frown. “The underwater currents in the planet core of Naboo?”

“Precisely”, he nodded, turning to meet her eyes. “Skylah flows from Theed to Oth Gunga, Karr-Di the other way around. Twice a day Skylah fills the tunnels and caves in the planet core, and twice a day Karr-Di fights it back and takes its place. That’s why the planet core is so dangerous – well, there are also some nasty big fishes but that’s a tale for another time”, he added in hushed voice, as if speaking to himself, his eyes clouded in melancholic remembrance, a fleeting moment that passed as swiftly as it came. “Four times a day one incoming flow pushes against the other, forcing it to recede, changing the tides of the entire planet. When the struggle reaches its apex, it creates a frenzied maelstrom in the core itself. Very dangerous for the ill-considerer traveller.” He looked at her pointedly. “When Anakin brought you back I sensed something of the sort. It was as if a current that had until that moment flown in one direction had suddenly been forced to turn back against its nature and will, urged by the push of some stronger tide. It was you, pushed back by the Force and Anakin’s will. The natural course of life tried to fight back but their combined strength was overwhelming. When the aim was reached, the Force subsided and your life resumed its precious course, but somehow differently. You are more somber. Weary.”

If Ahsoka had had body hair, she would have had goose bumps. The tips of her montrals were itching instead, the Togruta version of the bodily reaction to fear and awe.

“I never knew you have the soul of a poet, Master.”

He smirked. “I don’t. I sometimes indulge in poetry when I can’t find relief in meditation; once, in one of those instances, I happened to read many Nubian poems on this phenomenon. Tales of wanderers lost in the maelstrom.” He paused, the ghost of some old grief clouding for a fleeting moment the blue-green sparkle of his eyes. “Anyway, this metaphor is the most accurate way to describe what I sensed.”

“And you thought that what you sensed was the natural course of my life, already flowing smoothly into death, being pushed back by Anakin and the Force and reverted until I was alive again, and then resuming its new course”, she offered.

“Yes”, Obi-Wan nodded. “Something like that.”

“It’s not far from the truth, yet it’s not what really happened.” To Ahsoka it felt as if the destiny of the whole galaxy – _Anakin’s destiny, oh Force please help me_ – was depending on how Master Kenobi would react. As a matter of fact, it very likely did. “Anakin – no, not Anakin, thank the Force he doesn’t know – the Daughter didn’t bring me back from death. At least, not this time”, she added as a second thought, and paused to catch her breath. “She brought me back from the future.”

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan’s first reaction was to idly contemplate the newly gained certainty that his hair were definitely going to turn whiter than Master Mundi’s in a handful of years, and somehow he knew that, in ways he could not fathom yet, he would have to blame Anakin for that as well.

“The future”, he sighed inanely. Why would the Force need to burden him with this situation after having already thrust upon him the training of the Chosen One was beyond him. “Ahsoka, are you really suggesting you experienced time-travel?”, he asked, almost peevishly.

She looked him in the eye, her gaze unfaltering. “I’m not suggesting it, Master, I’m stating it.”

The lethargic rotation of the tea-leaves in his mug became suddenly a subject of the outmost interest as his mind tried, with very underwhelming results, to sort through the sudden folly he had found himself into. Reverting back to reality after a few stunned seconds, Obi-Wan saw, with a small tinge of pride swelling in his chest, that Ahsoka, after a claim so bold and in a situation so tense, was waiting for his reply with focused calm. The hint of fear in her was so controlled, so insignificant that it didn’t even dim her inner light. On the contrary, it made it shine brighter by contrast.

“Your composure gives you credit, Ahsoka. Your Master has taught you well”, he couldn’t refrain from praising her. Against all expectations, Anakin had apparently been able to teach his pupil something he himself had never mastered: _patience_.

As if she had read his thoughts, Ahsoka smiled mischievously.

“I didn’t learn this from Anakin”, she replied, but as she did the smile died on his lips.

“From whom, then?”, Obi-Wan asked, partly dreading the answer; the sadness that had dimmed her smile seemed far too old for her, and it troubled him.

“The future… and the Force”, she replied, looking away.

“The wisest Master of all, the Force is”, Obi-Wan quoted, his voice low as he recited in Yoda’s awkward phrasing. “But it can be an harsh teacher sometimes.” He paused to center his breathing. “You will understand that, much as I believe you are not lying to me on purpose, it is difficult to take your statement at face value”

“I do”, she readily agreed. “Trust me, Master, I had some trouble believing it myself.”

A sneaking sense of doubt was now gnawing at his certainties born of millennia of scientific literature about the time-space continuum – but then, as he had to remind himself with growing discomfort, hyperspace travel itself existed thanks to a paradox in the continuum. Obi-Wan’s mind raced through the memories of Ahsoka’s shell-shocked awakening on Mortis and what had, back then, seemed the senseless babblings of a traumatized person.

“I know you can’t accept my claim based on my words alone, Master”, she went on, “even though to prove it I could enumerate a long list of things that are going to happen, things that are happening right now - such as Caleb Dume’s whereabouts, if he’s still alive.” Her voice trembled slightly on this. “I’m not asking you to blindly believe in my words. But would you believe me if the Force prompted you to?”, she asked.

Wearily, Obi-Wan had to nod. He felt somehow cornered. “I am a Jedi. I live trusting the Force.”

“That’s what I thought”, she replied, smiling smugly. “May we?”, she asked, gesturing towards the meditation pads that lay across the room in front of a tall window overlooking a small garden beyond which shone the metallic gleam of Coruscant.

Obi-Wan nodded and together they rose from their seats to reach the pads, where they sat cross-legged facing each other, the purest image of the teaching legacy so cherished by the Jedi Order.

With deliberate slowness Ahsoka unclipped her sabers from her hips and sent them gently soaring in the cool air between them, where they floated in the pure light of early morning. Closing her eyes, she reached out into the Force, her consciousness drifting towards the perfect balance between the components of her weapons, reaching for the jointure between the lens, the power cell and the emitter. There was no mechanism that held her saber together, only the Force, and she silently asked it to undo what she had done when she had crafted her weapons, to unbind the components. The two sabers responded earnestly to her plea, and soon the now disconnected parts were spiraling in the air in a graceful dance amongst the sunlit particles of dust. In the center twirled the astoundingly white crystals, their gentle humming almost deafening in the silence. She felt Obi-Wan’s focus faltering and saw him staring in awe at the crystals.

“I forgot about your sabers”, he murmured. “They are unsettling… but gorgeous.”

Ahsoka sent the metallic parts flying towards a corner of the room, where they softly fell on the floor with a muffled sequence of _clanks_ ; the crystals she summoned to her outstretched palms.

“Will you rest your hands on mine, Master?”, she asked from the depths of her almost-trance.

She sensed him plunging into the Force to reach her as their hands touched; his were softer than their calloused appearance would suggest. The crystals felt heavy and warm on her palms, warmer now that Obi-Wan’s hands were upon hers as well, and they responded to her cradling touch; they were throbbing and pulsing now, directing Ahsoka’s and Obi-Wan’s consciousness to drift towards them, twin catalysts in the Force.

Years before, during long hours of lonely meditation, Ahsoka had done this same form of meditation, plunging deep into her crystals to ask them for their stories, to know the truth about the hearts of her lightsabers and about their previous owners. The crystals had let her in and she had painfully understood why they had always felt so familiar.

This time, she didn’t know what they would tell them; her hopes were resting on an educated guess.

Gently, she nudged her Grandmaster to follow her towards the inner core of her crystals. At first he tried to resist, uncomfortable. Kyber crystals were the soul of the lightsaber, which was a Jedi’s life; to delve into another’s crystal was a really intimate contact, one that was seldom used, and even rarely actually asked for. She nodded her assent in the Force and at last he gave in, letting go of his reservations and opening himself to what the Force would show him. The silver light of the crystals enveloped them both, and Ahsoka put all her hopes at the Force’s mercy as the twin stones started to sing their song

It was immediately apparent that their song would be one of grief. Still, intertwined in the bittersweet tunes, they could almost hear a voice, a voice that in their minds sounded like Anakin’s, whispering _“There is always hope”_ , the same words he had said to the Father on Mortis as every hope for Ahsoka's life seemed to be lost.

 

* * *

 

_Their minds are filled with an image both familiar and sacred, the most treasured secret of the Jedi Order, the glorious translucence of the Caves of Ilum. Twin stories for twin crystals, superimposed yet parallel, two different lives in different times, both part of the same hallowed tradition._

_The shape of a small girl enveloped in a cape too big for her is a black dot on the transparent blue of the ice. She tries to tread upon the slippery surface, step after step, following the immortal call of the Force; her slender green arms are stretched sideways to help her keep her balance._

_Beside her, upon her, after her, in another time but in the same place, another small figure walks timidly into a vast, gloomy hall; the scarf that covers the lower part of his T-shaped face is stiffened by the frost. The children of Ithor, a place of green dales and flowery prairies, can’t stand the cold._

_The girl goes on and on, but she is afraid, she doesn’t trust the ice, she doesn’t trust the millennia old tradition, or maybe she doesn’t trust herself. She slips and she falls and the floor becomes a chute; she tumbles down and down and down into the darkness. She has almost lost all hope when she sees a sparkle in the dark, a bulge of frost above her. With all her strength, she points her feet and stops her slide, holding on to the glowing stalactite of ice_. _She finds her footing again, and when she lets go of the ice, there is a crystal in her hands._

_Across the room a flaming red monster of ice waits for the Ithorian child to arrive, its fanged mow gaping in expectation for the unanticipated dinner. Bravely, the young Ithorian defies his fears and exacts his price from behind the tusks. When he exits the cave, a crystals glistens in his hand._

_The girl is a Knight now, crystals spread upon her face, geometric traces of ink declaring her adulthood in front of the Mirialan gods. She has lost her way, she has fallen once again, but in her darkest hour she has remembered the gleaming ice. A shadow darker than darkness itself now looms high before her, his outstretched hand inviting her to join him. She backs away, she remembers the light, and a blue blade erupts from her hand. Red light meets it and the blade falls. She falls as well, but not in darkness: she falls to become one with the Force._

_The Ithorian, on the other hand, is still a child. When the red-fanged monster appears in front of him in another vast hall, the most sacred heart of the Temple, he knows that it is here that he will meet his destiny. He remembers the cave and he faces the monster, defying his fear once again. The last thing he sees before he becomes one with the Force is the blue light of the crystal that gives life to his blade._

_The song of the crystals turns bitter now, unbearably sad, as they show how, in a dark recess of a Temple of evil, a grey creature taints them, spoils them, defiles them until they bleed, broken and tarnished. The memories of those times are hazed: there are no images, only sensations, and they speak of suffering and pain and death._

_At last, the darkness that surrounds them becomes a sky lit by a lonely yet blinding star._

_The star nears, its orbit following the call of gravity that pulls it towards the crystals, slaves caged in the twin halves of a metallic blade that shines with the brilliance of their blood. The stars is in front of the gray wielder now; gravity is in balance. The star is a she, a young Togruta girl, and now it’s her calling to the crystals. The grey slaver is vanquished and the young girl reverently gathers the crystals. She frees them from the prison they thought would be their grave, she tends to their wounds gently and wipes away their blood. At last, they are home again._

 

* * *

“This… Sweet Force. What was that?”

Obi-Wan felt his voice hissing out of his mouth in an awed whisper. His head felt dizzy and he had to put his hands down on the floor behind him to support his weight; had he not been sitting, he would have probably collapsed. Mindful of Ahsoka’s warning about not broadcasting his feelings to the entire Temple, he fortified once again his shields; he could feel his astonishment pulling against their already cracking surface.

“The story of my crystals”, Ahsoka replied, her voice shaking. “The ones I gathered after I lost my old sabers to the machinations of the Sith. Can you believe me now?”

A long, uncomfortable silence fell between them, punctuated only by the chirping of the birds, as usual busy in their daily routine in the small garden under the window.

“I cannot deny the Force”, Obi-Wan admitted at last, afraid of the sense of finality he could hear in his own words. “So you claim that one of your crystals is the future version of Barriss’?”

Ahsoka shook her head. “Once again I do not claim anything, Master. I merely accept what the Force shows me. The first part of the vision is what I saw when I searched these crystals for their past. I felt a strange connection to them, I suspected they had belonged to someone familiar to me. You know, the Ithorian boy is Byph Matoo; I escorted him to the Gathering in my first solo mission as Senior Padawan. It should happen in about four months.”

Obi-Wan felt his own frown intensify at this. The notion of a sixteen years old Senior Padawan was unsettling enough as it was, but even more unsettling was the fact that Ahsoka knew with unfaltering confidence the date of the upcoming Gathering, a date that the Council had fixed just the evening before and had not officially declared yet. There was no way she could know about it, unless…

“As for the second part”, Ahsoka went on, oblivious of the racing thoughts in his mind, “that’s how I gathered them. I killed the one who had defiled them, and restored their purity.”

“I… I just can’t believe it possible, Ahsoka. I know you are not lying to me, I sense your sincerity in the Force, but still… _time-travel_?”, he asked at last, looking at her almost helplessly.

“I know”, she whispered. “Even resurrections seems trifle compared to this, doesn’t it?”

Obi-Wan laughed mirthlessly. It was hard to tell what was the most disturbing part of it all, either the fact that clearly Ahsoka believed that she came from the future or that he himself was almost inclined to believe her.

“It does indeed. Couldn’t it have been a vision?”, he tried to rationalize, even as he felt both sense and reason slipping from his grasp.

“Too detailed. Too long. Too painful. And it wouldn’t explain the crystals. Also, visions don’t work this way.”

“The Force isn’t supposed to, either”, Obi-Wan sighed.

He let his gaze wander across the room, from the sprawling sky-lanes of Coruscant that stretched towards the horizon outside the closed window of his living room to the twin mugs that had once belonged to Qui-Gon Jinn and now rested cold and almost empty on the table. The sight of that humble reminder of long-lost happier times suddenly made the burden of the years since his Master’s death weigh unbearably upon his shoulders.

A Jedi did not wish, a Jedi only walked with unfaltering strength upon the path set up for him by the Force. Still, the man that Obi-Wan Kenobi was did sometimes wish that the path the Force had deemed fit for him were one of a service that involved less tampering with the most arcane aspects of the Force. Prophecies, the Chosen One, the Sith, Force wielders, and now time-travel. That was undoubtedly the Force’s payback for his teenage scholarly obsession with the mystiques of the Unifying Force – surely a reaction to Qui-Gon Jinn’s own obsession with the Living Force.

The Force, of course, was the only possible answer to his doubts and his fears, it had always been and would always be. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and plunged deep into its golden warmth, asking humbly to see what lie behind the tale of the silver crystals. The Force shone brightly in reply, a white, sunlit shore caressed by crystal-clear waves of encouraging certainty. The patterns on the sand could and would change, as would the waves, but both the sand and the sea were bound to remain the same.

The Force spoke to him of light and hope and sincerity, and he could do nothing but accept it. For a moment, all was forgotten in face of the revelation.

“Ahsoka, this…”, he stuttered, still unable to grasp the magnitude of the implications, “this is enormous. This a new milestone in our understanding of the Unifying Force.”

Ahsoka looked at him with her eyes wide; after a moment of stupefied disbelief, she chuckled. “Master, I don’t doubt it, but I’m afraid that scholarly interest will have to wait.” She shook her head, her montrals still twitching in amusement.

Obi-Wan snorted. “It always does, these days”, he sighed. “I’m afraid I’m not able to fully appreciate the situation right now, but I’m compelled to believe you. But tell me, Ahsoka”, he prompted her, fully knowing that probably he didn’t really want to hear the answer to the question he was about to make, “why would the Daughter deem such… extreme measures necessary?”

Ahsoka could not meet his enquiring – pleading – eye. “To stop the future I witnessed from ever taking place”, she whispered.

 

* * *

 

 

Every time Ahsoka thought that the hardest part was finally over, she had to second-guess herself.

Her white crystals hadn’t betrayed her trust and now Master Kenobi believed her. Now, all that she had left to do was to break his heart and tell him how, in a future she couldn’t promise wasn’t going to come to fruition once again, his best friend would help a tyrant destroy everything they had ever held dear. There was no way to sugarcoat it, so it was better to just get it over with as soon as possible.

Kenobi was now staring at her in painful expectation.

“I already told you you’re sounding ominous. The future taught you how to speak theatrically”, he commented dryly to hide his fear. “What happened?”, he asked, the urgency in his voice barely contained.

“I’m not theatrical. I assure you, I did not wish to live through a future that seems fit for the plot of a low-budget holodrama”, she snapped. Even if she knew that he used them as a mask, the Negotiator’s mask, Kenobi’s ironic remarks were starting to get to her nerves; unfortunately for him, she knew that what she was going to tell him was surely going to rip away his inclination for jesting. “What happened is that the Sith won the war. The Republic fell, and the Jedi Order went down with it.”

The stark contrast between her chirpy teenager voice and those momentous words made them sound, in some contorted way, even more final, childhood innocence shattered by a doomed reality.

Mustering her courage, she lifted her head to look at him. He was still, horror-struck, his mouth just slightly slackened. His right hand was stupidly raised against his face, now drained of all color, as if to shield him from a physical blow.

“It can’t be”, he whispered.

“It could”, she replied, forcing herself to be ruthless. “I wish I could spare you this pain, Master, but I can’t. I don’t want what I lived through to happen ever again, but I can’t change the future on my own. You see, I already tried to do things on my own once, back then. It didn’t work out. I started to accomplish something only when I found someone I could rely on.” The image of Bail Organa’s gentle smile sent a jolt of sadness in her nerves. His friendship was one of the few things she would miss of the awful future she had left behind. “I tried again to do things on my own at the Citadel and Echo and the others died. I will never make the same mistake again.”

Something snapped into place inside Kenobi, Ahsoka could see it in the way his back straightened and in the thread of iron that gave a new, metallic spark to the green of his eyes. It was the Jedi resolve to help whenever asked. The Force gathered around him with prickling power.

“Of course I will help you, Ahsoka.” He looked at her intently. “Only, I think you should tell this to the Council, not just to me.”

Ahsoka had been expecting that. “I disagree, Master, and you will understand why. Hear my story and then we will decide what to do.”

Kenobi nodded slowly. “Very well”, he said, trying to manage a faint smile. “Let’s hear what your future had in store for us.”

Ahsoka snorted. “It won’t be a pretty tale, I’m afraid”, she said. “Anyway, this is the problem. I don’t know myself much of what happened. You see, I was a Jedi no more.”

This declaration was greeted by pained disbelief. Briefly, Ahsoka recounted him the events that had led her to leave the Order: Barriss’ betrayal, her own framing and trial. Kenobi listened to her tale intently, showing more emotions than he had when he had lived through the actual ordeal; still, in the end, Ahsoka was sure he disapproved of her choice but thought it better than to voice his view on the matter. For that, she was grateful.

“After that, I lived in Coruscanti underground for a while. I was a sort of rogue Sentinel, trying to right the wrongs I encountered, offering my help where it was needed and asking for a roof, food and some money in exchange.”

“Anakin let you? How come the Order didn’t help you?”, he asked, still shocked.

“You see, I refused their help. I told Anakin that I had to sort things out on my own. No, he didn’t take it well”, she said ruefully, anticipating his question. “I didn’t have any contact with him, or any other Jedi, for months. Near the end of the war, right after I made contact with you again, Dooku succeeded in kidnapping the Chancellor. You and Anakin were to be sent to Mandalore to take care of a… situation. When the Chancellor was kidnapped, you were called back and Anakin asked me to go there in your stead. I took some men of the 501st and left. That’s the last I saw of both of you.”

Kenobi’s disquieted distraction rippled the Force.

“Mandalore?”, he asked.

Of course. Ahsoka knew he’d been friends with the Duchess Satine. It was no wonder the mention of trouble on Mandalore had worried him and left him oblivious of the fate of the Galaxy, less bothered than he should have been by the news of the Chancellor's kidnapping. She sighed; she hadn’t thought she would have to face so soon one of the hardest decision she had made when she’d resolved to let him in on her secret.

“There was a coup on Mandalore and the Mandalorians asked for Republic help. I will not give you more details, Master, forgive me. Not now.”

His unhappiness with her declaration was easy to read both in the Force and on his face. “I hope you plan to prevent it altogether”, he commented dryly.

Ahsoka sighed and shook her head.

“No, Master. I can’t. I already tried that in the Citadel. Last time Master Piell had died. I changed the order of things to save him, and Echo died in his stead. Lola Sayu taught me that every time I change the past, every time I try to save a life that would otherwise be lost, I am reshaping the future, channeling it into a course unknown.” She closed her eyes; she couldn’t bear to look at him right now, when she was voicing the possibility of letting people die, friends die, without doing anything to avert their fate. “For every life I save, I risk losing another. Is that worth it, Master?”

“Every chance to save a life is worth it, Ahsoka”, he replied sternly. He didn’t understand, not yet. He had not seen the galaxy undone, he had not received the opportunity to put it back together.

“Not when the fate of the whole galaxy is at stake. Knowledge is the only weapon I have. To lose it means losing our only advantage. There are things I’m not going to tell you, things I’m not going to change, things I’m sure you would want me to. I won’t do it, and not because I don’t want to or I don’t care, but because I don’t know enough to prevent what will happen; I must focus on the bigger picture, focus on the things I know I can change. One day, when hopefully all of this will be in the past, I know you will resent some of my decisions. They are painful. This is so much bigger than us”, she sighed in dismay. “I cannot save everyone. None of us can.”

“Then how will you chose what to do and who to save?”, he asked skeptically.

“As the Force guides me”, was her serene reply. “It is not easy, but you are a Jedi, Master. You know we need to let go.”

“Yet you left that path behind.”

“I did”, she conceded. “But one thing I swear”, she stated, her voice burning with crystal-clear certainty, “I may have left the Order but never, not even in my deepest hour of darkness, did I leave the path of Light.”

Kenobi nodded slowly, but was now looking at her with unease, hundreds of questions raging in his mind, questions whose answers he probably should never know. Silence stretched between them, an uncomfortable company.

“Ahsoka, how old are you?”, he asked at last. That seemed a question innocuous enough.

She snorted bitterly. “Do I sound so old?”

“You sound too wise to be Anakin’s Padawan and too cynical to be sixteen standard”, he remarked.

“I am thirty-three standard.” She stifled a chuckle at his expression of shock. “And regarding cynicism, I spent the last sixteen years of my life on the run, part of a rebellion to restore the Republic. That’s not the profile of your typical cynic. I just learnt pragmatism.”

Kenobi smirked. Apparently, Qui-Gon Jinn’s legacy of rogues had lived on through his apprentice’s Padawan. “A rebellion? This sounds more like what I would expect of Anakin’s Padawan.”

“Well… in a way you are right, I suppose”, she stuttered. Anakin’s Padawan rebelling against Anakin’s regimen… How hard the bitter irony of that statement had hit her must have shown on her face, for Kenobi looked at her in confusion; surely he would have expected a smile as a reply.

Sensing her discomfort, he didn’t press the matter further, reverting to the topic of her age with a frown.

“You should be a Knight then, Ahsoka. You are more than ten years elder then your Master. This is unprecedented.”

She cocked her eyebrow. “Why, is there anything in my situation that is _not_ unprecedented?”

“I daresay no”, he convened, stroking his bearded chin. “ You are barely younger than me.” He opened his mouth in quiet disbelief at the idea.

Ahsoka shrugged. “I assure you that my age is the last of my concerns.”

The Jedi Master moved closer and put both his hands on her shoulders, his gaze steady into her eyes. “Remember, Ahsoka, that you can count on me for everything.”

She smiled at him fondly. “I know. I missed you, Master.”

Ahsoka regretted her words as soon as she uttered them because she could suddenly read on his face the quick calculations that her reminder had prompted, to the conclusion that the Republic was going to fall in less than a year… And that she had not seen either him nor Anakin since.

“Let’s go back to your tale”, he urged her. “How did the Republic fall?”

“To say it with words I was told were Senator Amidala’s, with thunderous applause”, Ahsoka recited sardonically. “The people of the Republic were told that the Jedi had crafted the whole war to seize power over the Galaxy. The Senate cheered as the Republic was transformed into an Empire, _for a safe and secure society._ ” She spat out the old, rancid mantra with disgust. “Palpatine, who has always been just a puppet of the Sith Lord, was never seen again.”

From a certain point of view, that was true. The Sith Lord’s true identity was not something she could reveal to Master Kenobi. It was too risky: should Palpatine suspect anything, there was nothing preventing him from issuing Order 66 earlier. Ahsoka was sure that, as much as he wanted Darth Vader as his apprentice, he would never put his position in jeopardy to secure Anakin’s fall. That secret must remain hers alone.

Kenobi’s pallor was now ghastly. “Dooku was not lying”, he murmured.

“Dooku?”

“Yes. When I was his prisoner on Geonosis he told me that the Senate was under the control of a Sith Lord. I didn’t believe him. None of us did.”

Ahsoka sneered. They had been played so well. “Deception is the way of the Sith… and often truth is more deceiving than a lie.”

“Who is he, Ahsoka?”, Kenobi asked, his face contracted in a grim sneer. “Who is the Sith Lord?”

 _Often truth is more deceiving than a lie._ “He never showed his true face.” Her own words disgusted her. The way of deception was unnervingly easy, but she would do what she must. “He had his apprentice doing all the dirty work for him.”

“And the Jedi?”

A deep weight settled in her chest, and she averted her gaze. She knew she could not delay the inevitable further.

 

* * *

 

 

The Jedi path was a narrow one, so narrow it could be walked only in single file. Walking it two at a time was permitted only when one of the two was still so small he could walk side by side with his Master without stepping outside the track. It was a steep path, going forever uphill, so harshly that sometimes the climb left the traveler breathless and dried up, with nothing but the Force to sustain him.

Obi-Wan had always walked that path with serene joy, his head high and his eyes clear; had someone asked him why, his answer would have been that, even if he knew that he would never, could never reach the summit, the splendor of the view one could behold during the journey was very well worth all the effort.

Moreover, the path was beautiful in itself. In his mind, Obi-Wan had always pictured the Jedi path as a thin strip of pebbles, glowing white with the purity of the Force and honed by millennia of loving steps. Each pebble, each shining element that guided the Jedi forwards, towards the Light, was a precept of the Order. Of course, patience was one of those pebbles, one of the smoothest ones, one of those that required more labor to be honed.

In that moment Obi-Wan was trying very hard to focus himself on the notion of patience, to smooth that pebble further, but found himself failing. The pebble had suddenly become a rigged chunk of volcanic rock; any attempt at smoothing its razor-sharp edges would just break the stone.

“What happened to the Order, Ahsoka?”, he repeated at last, unable to contain his brutal need to know.

Ahsoka sighed, her unfocused eyes looked without seeing the expanse of Coruscant outside the window. “You see, I really don’t know what happened after you rescued the Chancellor. I know only bits and pieces gathered by Rex from his brothers, and he told me years after it happened. I had been out of the loop for a while and afterwards it became almost impossible to gather information. The name itself of the Jedi had become taboo.”

The name itself of the Jedi. Twenty-five thousands years of history, of precious and sacred traditions of selfless service, thousands of lives devoted to peace and truth, all crumpled under the clanking feet of battle droids.

“So the Separatists won in the end”, he said, unable to fathom what other fate could have befallen the Order.

“The Separatists?”, Ahsoka snapped. “No, this never had anything to do with the Separatists. You see, the Clone Wars are nothing but a diversion. The Sith were… no”, she corrected himself viciously. “Right now the Sith _are_ behind the war, even on our side. I don’t know how, but they had a hand in the manufacture of the Clone Army. We are nothing but the pawns of a _dejarik_ table that exists only to the Sith Lord’s own amusement. He is playing both sides, and the endgame is near. The whole purpose is the annihilation of the Jedi.”

Obi-Wan was staring at her blankly, unable to process the horror of what he was hearing. He tried to let go part of his dread in the Force, but the warm presence that had always been there to support him since infancy seemed to have forsaken him at last, leaving him naked and shivering in front of the apocalypse.

“It’s impossible.” The Force had deserted him, so he tried to find help in reason. “Sifo-Dyas placed the order for the army. He was acting unbeknownst to the Council, but he was a Jedi.”

“Don’t be naïve, Master”, Ahsoka reprimanded him sympathetically. “He wouldn’t be the first Jedi tricked by the Sith. We all were. Or maybe he fell. I don’t know, and it doesn’t even matter anymore”, she added bitterly. “Believe me, the Sith are in control of our army. Each clone has a microchip in his brain. Mind control.”

“Mind control?” He felt nauseous. “This is obscene.”

“Well, we are talking about the Sith.” She snorted. “Those chips are meant to override the clones’ free will. When the Sith Lord decides that his moment has come, he will issue a contingency order. Back then, it happened little more than a year after Mortis. Order 66”, she spat behind gritted teeth, contempt oozing from her every word. “Everywhere, our troopers lost their free will and turned against us. My men tried to shoot me down. I learnt that Cody shot you down – but you survived.” Her eyes went blank and her voice came out emotionless. “I had to kill many of my men in order to save myself and Commander Rex. You see, he suspected something was amiss and he had his chip removed. He saw his brothers losing their identities and turning against me, like brainless Geonosian zombies. We are leading an army of doomed slaves.”

Obi-Wan felt as if he was going to be sick. Wave after wave of nausea hit him as memories from a past he had never lived but had seen danced in his mind. _“Blast him!”_ , Cody had screamed, giving the order to shoot Obi-Wan down as he rode some kind of reptilian across what seemed to have been one of the sinkholes characteristic of Utapau’s morphology. The Son had truly shown him the future, the future Ahsoka came from.

Merciless, Ahsoka went on with her mournful litany.

“Jedi were exterminated throughout the galaxy, the survivors hunted down like animals. In seventeen years, I met only one Jedi survivor. I heard that Quinlan Vos survived, and I believe that also Master Yoda lived, but I know of no other.”

With a strange detach, as if they belonged to someone else, Obi-Wan realized how white his knuckles were as they grasped tightly the hem of his tunic. Maybe holding onto the soft linen could really keep his world from falling apart.

A lone tear escaped Ahsoka's eyes. “You can’t imagine what it means, Master”, she murmured, “to feel the Force ripped of all that light in a single night.”

No, Obi-Wan couldn’t, and selfishly he prayed that he never would. He could sense her pain, raw and almost physical. He could hardly bear to hear her tale, he could not even remotely fathom how it could feel to actually live through all of that.

“But surely someone in the Temple survived… The lower levels are equipped to withstand a siege.”

“There was no time.” Ahsoka closed her eyes and Obi-Wan could sense her shields rising again, taller and stronger than ever, built out of sheer will to enclose her grief. “A legion of clones led by the new Sith apprentice marched on the Jedi Temple.”

Scene after scene, in a gruesome dance guided by the rhythm of Ahsoka’s grisly tale, Obi-Wan’s mind replayed the visions the Son had thrust upon him on Mortis. He could almost hear the rhythmic march of the white-armored clones climbing the Temple stairways to violate its sacred halls.

“All Jedi in the Temple were slaughtered.” The Room of a Thousand Fountains, rubble and blood-stained water. “Not even the younglings survived.” Dismembered children in the Council room.

Drained of all energy at last, Ahsoka covered her face with her hands. Tears slipped through her fingers.

Obi-Wan was about to move closer to offer her some comfort; he remembered the pain he had felt when the Son had shown him his visions, the unbearable anguish he had felt in seeing the beautiful, lifeless figure of Shaak-Ti, the innocent blood of the murdered children, the agony soaring among blazing flames…

The flames died out as icy numbness superseded them. Obi-Wan’s soul froze. White tendrils of ice enveloped the soft tissue of his still beating heart, slowing it, hardening it until it almost stopped dead in his chest. He could taste blood in his mouth; his own blood was the only warmth he had left. In the Force, he felt like the frostbitten wastelands of Hoth.

“Why are you telling me this, Ahsoka?” His voice was not his, it was metallic and lifeless. He almost wished he was an heartless droid. One without heart cannot have his heart broken; his heart was going to be shattered beyond repair, he could feel it in the Force. “Why not Anakin?”

The haunted look on Ahsoka’s face told him more than any word could, told him everything he needed to know, something he wished he had never had to know; her blotchy eyes, her trembling lips, her gaunt cheeks, the way her hands fell limply on her lap, all was a testament to her misery, a mirror of his own.

His heart was ice, his mind was mist, a mist echoing with the chant of familiar voices, words he had mulled over and over in innumerable sleepless nights.

_“He is dangerous. Everyone can see it, why can’t you?” “Promise me you will train the boy.” “The Chosen One the boy may be. Nevertheless, great danger I fear in his training.” “Have you done as I asked? Have you trained the boy?”_

And then, another man’s memory, his own memory from another time. _“I hate you!”_

Obi-Wan couldn’t find in himself the will to contradict him. He deserved that hate. For the first time since the death of his Master, he felt a track of moisture flowing on the bony contour of his cheeks, on his flesh hollowed by years of war.

“It can’t be”, he heard his voice cry. It came from somewhere far away, from a wretched creature who had lived a lifetime of misery.

He bore his tears with shame, and not because he thought it underneath him to cry. No, Obi-Wan Kenobi had always known he was a flawed Jedi and had no shame in admitting it. The shame he felt was because those tears were the well-deserved mark of the failure of his whole life, a failure whose consequences would not fall on him alone. He had failed the Jedi. He had failed the Galaxy. He had failed Qui-Gon, and he had failed Anakin.

“It was him, wasn’t it?”, he croaked at last. “The Sith apprentice. My fallen apprentice.”

 

* * *

 

The chirping of the birds sounded now so out of place in the deadly silence, a chipper reminder of the fact that the clueless and unfeeling outside world was going on with its business as Obi-Wan’s own world was falling apart.

“How did you know?”, Ahsoka whispered.

 _There is no emotion_ , tried to say a voice in his head, but it was a lie, the truth was that there was no peace, not when the primeval war against the Sith could destroy everything he had given his life for.

Speaking was anguish, silence was anguish. Obi-Wan forced his mouth to speak.

“The Son showed me. I did not believe him.” _There is no ignorance_ , and indeed now he had knowledge, but ignorance had been blissful, while knowledge was giving him nothing but pain. “I… I could not believe him. As I couldn’t believe Dooku.” Breathe, breathe. _There is no passion_ , and there wasn’t indeed, he felt so numb, the horror left no room for passion, but surely there was no serenity either. “I didn’t want to. I still can’t.” _There is no chaos_ , but how could there be harmony when all the truths he had clung to had now turned to ashes, when his best friend, one of the most good-hearted persons he’d ever known, could become the enemy he had sworn to destroy? “He showed me the clones marching on the Temple. The slaughter… The dead younglings.” _There is no death_ , but they had died, slaughtered by – no, no – and where had the Force been, where was it when those innocent children had asked for its help against - no, no? “They had tried to find shelter…”

“In the Council Room”, Ahsoka supplied with broken voice. “Rex told me.”

For the first time in Obi-Wan’s life, the Jedi Code was offering him no comfort. It rang hollow in the depth of his soul. The ice that had formed there would never melt.

“How?”, he moaned. “Why?”

“I never knew”, Ahsoka sighed. “I didn’t even know it was him at first I always thought he was killed in the last stand at the Temple. I started suspecting two months ago.”

A last sparkle of hope. “Then how can you be sure?”

Ahsoka shivered. That memory was still too fresh, the pain too raw. “I… I fought him. We dueled in the Sith Temple on Malachor. At first I hoped to be able to save him, I… I told him I wouldn’t leave him, and he said… he said _then you will die_.” She could see in Kenobi’s eyes the same pain she had felt upon realizing that not even her love could extinguish the yellow flame in Anakin’s eyes. “I pulled the Temple down on us. I… I did it for mercy… the Anakin I knew… your Anakin, the Anakin we still have would rather be dead than enslaved to the Sith.” The horror of her still recent discovery after sixteen years of fear and pain crashed down on her in wave after wave of pain. “I thought I killed us both, but when I opened my eyes again I found myself on Mortis.”

Silent, shaking, Obi-Wan got up from the meditation pad and treaded unsteadily towards the window. Behind the glass, the billions who inhabited Coruscant kept on with their business under the light of a sun that, by all accounts, should have been extinguished, just as all those clueless, insensible people should have stopped dead as impossibility itself was revealed to the universe, a future in which the Chosen One of the Force had chosen the Sith. A future in which Anakin and Obi-Wan, the Hero With No Fear and the Negotiator, were no more the two joining halves of a single unity, that of teacher and student, that of friends and brothers bound in the Force. A future in which Anakin could do his best to kill his beloved Padawan.

With a movement of his hand he burst the window open and a gush of fresh air came to dry the tears on his cheeks, bearing the impossible scent of blossoming flowers. He stood amidst the draft and tried to breathe and regain his center in the Force. He tried to let go. He let go of his anger. With a more straining effort, he let go of his guilt. He let go of his fear. He tried to let go of the thought of Anakin, but he found that he just couldn’t.

There were no words that could ease their pain. “How can you stand all of this?”, he asked at last, fresh and yet unshed tears burning in his eyes.

“I love him”, Ahsoka replied simply, tears glistening in twin descent down her cheeks. Obi-Wan turned sharply towards her and their eyes met; before he could do as much as open his lips to lecture her about attachment, she glared at him with cold fury. “And don’t even try to tell me that you don’t”, she warned him. “I know you do.”

Obi-Wan didn’t answer. Instead, he silently moved back towards her and did something she had never seen him do, something she’d never thought he would do. He pulled her up into a gentle embrace and let her cry all her misery against his collarbone. If she realized, from the way his chest heaved, that he was crying as well, she didn’t acknowledge it.

“I failed him”, he whispered against her montrals.

“We all did, Master”, she replied softly, pulling out of his embrace to look him in his eyes. “And he failed us. No one is innocent in this war, and Anakin even less so. Whatever happened, the galaxy didn’t deserve this. The Jedi didn’t, nor the younglings he slaughtered. Neither did you and I.”

Obi-Wan nodded, but even that small gesture made his vision blur; his legs didn’t seem able to support his weight, so he made for the small couch in the corner of the living room and dropped on it.

“And where was I in all of this? How could I leave him alone?”, he whispered, hiding his face in his hand.

“You never did, Master”, she tried to comfort him. “You were always together, all over the HoloNet until the end of the war, the Negotiator and the Hero With No Fear. Joint missions, joint victories, joint honors. In all the battles of the Outer Rim Sieges – the last campaigns of the war”, she supplied in seeing his confused expression; that stage of the war had not started yet. “In all those battles you fought side by side. You were recalled to Coruscant together.”

“I was on Utapau when my clones attacked me. I saw it.”

“Yes, you had been dispatched there to kill Grievous, but that was the first time the two of you were apart.”

“Then… how?”

“I don’t know”, she said. “On the HoloNet I saw a recording of him seeing you out to your Star Destroyer. You were both smiling. Four days after that, he… he slaughtered the younglings in the Temple.”

“Not him… Not Anakin. I can’t believe it.”

“Neither could I. But I saw him, Master. I saw him with my very eyes as he tried to kill me with a red blade in his hand. I saw his eyes. Sith eyes.”

Obi-Wan’s mind was racing in circles. He knew she was telling the truth, of course he knew, but he just couldn’t grasp that stark reality, there was something amiss, a piece he had not yet found.

In the whirlwind of horror that raged inside his soul he had forsook almost all the truths he had always taken for granted. Still, there were some he could not yet relinquish, and the fact that Anakin cared for him was one of those.

“Anakin would never do this to me…”, he mumbled, trying to rationalize the impossible. “He saved me, he risked his life to save mine even after I made him leave Padmé behind on Geonosis”, he said, revealing without even realizing it a truth he had withheld from her just minutes before, the identity of the person he had left for dead on the battlefield. “I can’t see him turning on me. If I stretch my worst imagination to its limits, I can see him betraying the Jedi. You see”, he added in an hushed voice, “I’m afraid that some of them always saw him as a potential danger.”

“They dug their own grave”, she replied softly. “Exclusion leads to pain, pain leads to anger, anger leads to hate.”

Obi-Wan nodded somberly. “Still, I can’t see him betraying me. Or you. Or the Republic.” Which, of course, meant Padmé, and Ahsoka knew.

“I know, Master. I don’t know why he did it. I only know he did, and I know I want to stop him for making the same mistake twice. It destroyed the Galaxy and the Order, and it destroyed him.” _And you_ , she thought, but did not say aloud. Some truths were better left unsaid.

“There is still something amiss, Ahsoka”, he reasoned. “He would never… he is loyal to me.”

And on that word, _loyal_ , he gasped.

 

* * *

 

Ahsoka was about to tell him some soothing lie, to tell him that Anakin was loyal but had been deceived, but before she could open her mouth she saw the savage look that haunted Kenobi’s eyes and her words died in her throat.

“No”, he growled, a sound almost inhuman. It was beyond comprehension, the perfect embodiment of Jedi countenance thus shattered. “No, no, no. It was him, him all along...” A feral moan escaped his lips. “He was a child and already he had stretched his claws to clutch him! A child!” He clutched his head in his hands. “How could I be so blind? How could we all be so blind?”

Wordlessly, shaking, Ahsoka joined him on the couch, hastily fortifying her shields and poking at his to remind him do the same; she felt him numbly reaching out and rebuilding his mental defenses, but she had to help him to do it properly.

Her years of exile had taught her that, sometimes, the Force could do only so much. There were times in which human comfort was needed, so she took one of his hands from his face and held it in hers on her lap, trying to melt at least the surface of the ice. “Master”, she murmured soothingly, “you weren’t supposed to know this. I never wanted you to.”

Obi-Wan breathed and she felt him trying to find again his center in the Force.

“I’m glad I know it”, he said, his voice more steady now, only a subtle hint of a growl on the last syllable.

“How could you understand who he is? None of you did, last time.”

Obi-Wan laughed bitterly. “Because I know Anakin.” He sighed and bent his head backwards, resting it on the backrest of the couch. His eyes gazed unfocused at the ceiling. Ahsoka had never seen him so disheveled, almost out of control. “He is loyal, fiercely so, sometimes beyond reason. He would never betray a friend willingly. He would never betray _me_ , not unless he was forced to choose.” He moaned again. “That… _monster_ … And he chose him! Stupid, stupid boy…”

Ahsoka thought bitterly that the mere fact that Kenobi could address Darth Vader as a “stupid boy” meant that, no matter what she had told him, he would never be completely able to grasp the extent of Anakin’s fall. Grateful, she silently thanked the Force for its mercy. She could not imagine what the Obi-Wan of her other timeline must have suffered, what pain could have been in his soul when he had succumbed to a blade wielded by his best friend in the inferno of Mustafar.

“This has not happened yet. This won’t happen, not this time”, she said with ferocious determination. “We won’t let it happen. There is still something amiss, something we don’t know. There is no way he would choose him over you now. There is definitely something we don’t know.” Kenobi looked at her with blank eyes, then slowly nodded. He rose again and walked towards the open window to let the gentle breeze dry the trails of tears that had escaped his control.

“What do you plan to do?”, he asked hoarsely, his face even paler in the sunlight.

“I plan to stop him, of course”, Ahsoka replied, rising to take her place beside him. “Obi-Wan”, she said, using his first name to stress the urgency of her plea, “he must not know that you know.”

He snorted sardonically. “I wasn’t planning on comming him to tell him not to join the Sith.”

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t talking about Anakin. I was referring to him. To the Sith.”

A sudden surge of unconstrained power crackled around Obi-Wan; Ahsoka felt the static tickling her skin and was suddenly afraid.

“He must be dealt with”, Obi-Wan stated, his fury hidden behind his flat voice.

“No!”, she cried, turning to face him and grabbing his wrists with both hands. “No. Don’t you realize? We cannot act against him. One word, and the Clone Army will turn against the Jedi. I only lived through Order 66 and it was dreadful enough; who knows what the other orders are, who knows what contingency plans he has in store! He has planned this through and through. Think about it, Master”, she pleaded, searching his face to meet his eye, but he kept his gaze fixed to a point above her shoulder, to Coruscant’s durasteel horizon. “The Sith had been dormant for a millennium”, she went on, her plead now almost a rant. “Unbeknownst to us, they have survived. They have thrived. They have put their hands on the Republic, manufactured a schism, got hold of Force knows which sources of credits, I bet they have the Hutts in their grasp as well. The Sith Lord won’t let some triviality such as death hinder his plans. He will have ensured a way for his plan to be carried out even in the case of his demise. The Sith won’t let their revenge fail.”

Even the gust of wind died out under this ominous litany of horrors, the birds fell silent. The silence was so thick they could each hear the other’s heart pounding in their chest.

“We can’t afford to play our hand too soon”, she kept on. “We must bid our time and act with the knowledge I have gained through the blood of the galaxy I come from. I won’t let that blood be shed in vain.”

Obi-Wan finally met her eye. “I must warn Anakin.”

“No. No, you must not.”

“How can you ask me to just stand by and play at his game?”, he asked unbelievingly. “Ask me to willingly throw my apprentice - your own Master - into the arms of a Sith Lord?”

Ahsoka hushed him urgently and closed the window. They were being so cautious with their shielding but had not thought about the eventuality of a far more mundane eavesdropper.

“I don’t like it anymore than you do, but you must see we have no choice!”, she cried in exasperation as soon as the window was shut. “His power is not complete yet. The Banking Clan still escapes his clutches. In a matter of months he will have it secured as well. I think that only then he will truly focus his attention on the last missing piece of his collection.”

“The Chosen One himself, of course. He undoubtedly aims high, doesn’t he?”, Obi-Wan snorted. “Oh, Ahsoka, you have no idea of how long he has planned this. I can see it now, he’s been eyeing Anakin since he was a child. He was the kindly father I could not be, both because of age and of role. He had just lost his mother so I let him. I let him go and spend his childhood afternoons with a Lord of the Sith! When he was ten years old!” He moaned. “I see now the way he planned all our missions, dividing us when it suited his purpose, the way he eulogized his successes and let them go to his head, the way he put me under a bad light as the teacher jealous of the accomplishments of a pupil who was better than him”, he seethed, his outrage now barely contained behind almost four decades of exacting training. “It didn’t matter to me, as long as Anakin was content, as long as he had someone who would praise him. I let it go. I only wanted him to be happy”, he whispered feebly.

“Master, you cannot blame yourself. We were all fooled. The whole council, the whole Republic. Even Master Yoda. How could you know?”

“I don’t know”, he admitted. “Maybe I really couldn’t, maybe I could and I didn’t. I will never know.” He turned back to face her. “And even now that we know, how can we stop him?”

“I don’t know. I only know I can’t do this on my own. I already tried once to do things on my own, after the rise of the Empire. It didn’t go well. A wise man, a good man gave me new purpose and a team.” Call it paranoia, she was not willing to discuss Bail’s role in the Alliance, not even with Master Kenobi. She knew that he and Bail Organa had been close friends since their misadventure on Zigoola, but were the Republic to fall again, she didn’t want to take a chance and risk jeopardizing the Rebellion’s chances of survival. “I had to relearn that lesson. I need your help.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I don’t have a plan, not anymore. You see, I told you there are so many things I don’t know. Take Mandalore. I know there will be a coup and I know who the culprits are, but I don’t know where they are now, don’t know what they’re doing, don’t know when they’ll strike. It would be a wild Bantha chase to go after them, and it could alter the future in ways I can’t imagine.” She could almost see the weight of acceptance setting on the Master’s shoulders. He suddenly seemed older, and more alone than ever. “You are a Jedi. As for me… I don’t know what I am, but I am a servant of the Force.” Light shone bright around them at her declaration, and she could almost see a sparkle in the depth of his dimmed eyes. “We cannot save the whole Galaxy. It’s past time the Galaxy learns how to save itself from corruption and greed. Our battle is the unending struggle against Darkness, the only Enemy against whom the Galaxy has no weapons. We can’t let it fall into the hands of the Sith again. I wished we could prevent the war and eradicate the Sith’s plans before they could take shape, but that chance was not granted to us. We must put to use what knowledge I have and let the rest with the Force.”

“And… Anakin?”, Obi-Wan asked, some shaky serenity back in his voice. While she was speaking, he had at last been able to reach into the Force again, supported by her unfaltering faith in the Light, and the knowledge that the Force would help him as it always had was growing once again inside him, a frail bud that needed nurturing and care and light but that could one day bloom again. He had found his precarious balance on the knife edge.

His only wish was to never thread alone the narrow path laid out before his feet.

“I can’t save Anakin on my own”, Ahsoka replied painfully. “I tried once. I failed. And this time there is so much more at stake.” Again, she took his hands into hers. There they stood, bathed in the sunlight, far above the fears and hopes of billions of beating hearts, for a moment far above even their own unbearable fears and hopes, two blades of light against the onslaught of darkness, luminous as Ahsoka’s silver sabers. Their eyes met, and the Force sung around them. “Help him, Obi-Wan. We are his only hope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I sincerely thank you all for your support.  
> Just two things: I wanted to make the reveal more gradual (i.e. Palpatine's identity), but I just couldn't see Obi-Wan not figuring that out; plus, I really hope for the next chapters to turn out less angsty. I'll try, I promise.  
> As anticipated, I'm taking a (forced) break. I don't know when I will post next chapter, but realistically it won't be before a month.  
> To quote our favourite Master, "You must persevere and, in time, a new chapter will emerge. May the Force be with you, always."


	10. Younglings and Padawans

_[Twelve days before, Wasskah]_

_There is no emotion. There is no emotion. There is no emotion._

That was what the Jedi Code said: _there is no emotion_. Still, at thirteen years of age and not yet two months into his Padawan training, Caleb Dume thought that, no matter what the bloody Code said, _there was_ emotion. Fear, in that specific instance.

Curled upon the soaked ground, Caleb had been trying in vain to stop his body from shaking; at first, he had tried to blame his shivers on the damp cold that gnawed at his bones, but he knew he’d been lying to himself. He was afraid, completely and utterly afraid. He felt lonely, and he felt lost.

What would he give to have his Master, the kind and wise Depa Billaba, by his side! Her gentle smile would have chased all fears away, giving him confidence and focus, and they would have fought their way out of that mess side by side, as they had done on the missions they had shared since the start of his apprenticeship.

How happy he had been when she had chosen him to be her Padawan, how elated he had felt the first time they had thrown themselves into battle to fight off the awful army of the Sith. He had felt content, he had felt whole. He had felt as if he had found his place in the universe, as if he belonged to something that was so much bigger than him. He had understood that the Jedi Path was his destiny, had understood it more clearly than he ever had in his dreams of grandeur as an Initiate.

And now, after merely six weeks of training, he had already failed, demonstrating to the world that he was no better than a sniveling child hiding behind mama’s skirt. As soon as he’d gone out of her sight for a moment, he’d been overpowered and caught by a pack of Trandoshans – of Trandoshans, no less! Those underdeveloped, dim-witted, overgrown lizards… Of course, at least he had not been subdued by Gamorreans, that would have been beyond humiliating, but well, Trandoshans were not so higher in the ranking of intelligent species. Admittedly, he also knew that he wasn’t supposed to have such thoughts about other sentients, but still…

Anyway, right now he was afraid and ashamed, and the only thing he was able to do was to sulk and shiver half hidden under a mound of wet, putrefying leaves of some huge tropical bush. Bitterly, he thought that he almost hoped to be found and killed by the stinking lizards before his Master came to rescue him, because he wouldn’t be able to bear the shame of seeing her disappointment. He would surely be cast out of the Order for his failure, and he didn’t want to cause her such pain.

A rebellious tear poked out of his eyes and he swept it away furiously with the back of his hand. If he had to die, he decided, at least he would die as a Jedi, with a blaster hole in his chest – well, since he had not his lightsaber anymore it was more likely that he would die pierced by a constellation of blaster holes rather than only one, but still he preferred to have it in his chest rather than in his back.

Trying to feel like the Jedi Knight he was not, he rose to his knees and shook away the mud from his hair. Still hiding under the lush foliage of the bush whose rotting lower leaves filled the air with the sickeningly sweet scent of decay, he took in his surroundings, something that, in the haste of his mad escape from the Trandoshans’ fire he had not done – another failing. _Focus_ was the first word a Jedi youngling was taught, and he had forgotten to focus. Late was better than never, at any rate.

His putrid hideout covered with its large and plump leaves a fair expanse of the steep bank at whose muddy bottom a gurgling torrent gushed downwards, towards the sandy shore where the Trandoshans’ ship had ejected its prisoners. On the opposite side of the river the bank rose more gently, in a smooth slope covered by sparse trees and by a thick underwood; Caleb thought he could see the yellow, dewy spark of flashberries glistening under the dense foliage at the feet of a particularly tall tree, and his empty stomach gurgled with desire.

Surely that slope looked promising, but Caleb decided that the scarcity of trees would offer inadequate cover, not to mention how visible would the traces of his passage in such a lash underwood be. Sighing, with a pang of regret at the thought of the yellow, juicy berries, he chose to remain on this steeper, less enticing side of the stream. He crawled upwards on the muddy bank and cursed inwardly as he saw the visible traces he had left on the wet ground during is frantic escape. He thought he was lucky they hadn’t found him yet; but then, a voice that spoke in his head with Master Kenobi’s voice reminded him that, for the Jedi, _there is no such thing as luck._ Maybe luck had actually nothing to do with his safety and he had not been found only because those savages just liked to play with their prey before eating it, he bitterly thought.

Anyway, even if luck didn’t exist, he had decided to do his best to tip the odds of not being found in his favor, and that entailed, first and foremost, getting as much distance as he could between himself and the horridly visible traces he had left in the mud.

Closing his eyes to focus as he did when he was and Initiate – he was already able to use the Force lightly as he moved but in this situation he preferred to remain on the safe side – he tipped into the Force and jumped towards a long, strong branch several meters above his head. He grabbed it with his sweaty hands and, after having swung to gain momentum, he somersaulted on its top, landing somewhat clumsily but steadily on his two feet.

At first, he was not quite sure of his ability to run and jump from branch to branch and from tree to tree, and each jump was a painstaking moment of self-doubting suspension between air and earth – and possibly life and death. After a few jumps, however, he felt confident enough to stop worrying about every single step he took and, before he realized it, he’d been jumping across the forest for more than an hour and was absorbed in a light moving meditation. By then the sun was high in the sky, and he decided it was best if he stopped until the longer afternoon shadows came to offer him better cover.

Still panting from the exertion, he crawled inside the gaping mouth of an hollow tree and caught his breath, exhaling gradually to slow his racing heart. His senses were alert and his mind felt dizzy but lighter at the same time; the warm air and the chirping of birds had chased away the fear and desperation that had grown inside him just a few hours before, and he realized he was smiling. The Force felt alive around him and he couldn’t sense any menacing presence nearby. Enlarging his perception, he sent his consciousness further, caressing the quivering leaves and the frenetic routine of life. Further and further he went, uphill towards the mountains he’d seen glistening at the horizon under the sun; the Force had nodded in approval when he had decided to head there, thinking that the shady valleys could offer him food and water and shelter far away from the shore hunted by the Trandoshans. He plunged deeper into the Force, trying to detect what kind of creatures inhabited those valleys. Furry rodents, shy herbivores, a few fanged hunters… and then his heart almost skipped a beat. Frowning, he tried to touch again the pulsing nodes he’d felt in the Force and found that it had not deceived him the first time. Elation and purpose finally back in his heart, he jumped to his feet – and got a painful lump in reward, since he’d forgotten that the hollow he’d been hiding into was far smaller than he was.

Far away, near the feet of the mountains, a girl smiled tiredly. “There is another Youngling”, she told her two companions. “He’s still alive.”

 

* * *

 

 

_[Twelve days later, Coruscant]_

 

Shielding was one of those Force-manipulation techniques a Force Sensitive child learnt unconsciously at first, led by the instinctive need to forge a mental protection against the onslaught of sensation that came from the outside world. Usually, this happened even before the child had started to show the more outwardly discernible signs of Force potential, those signs which prompted parents to give up their children to the Jedi – innocuous signs, such as the ability of sending toys floating around, or more inconvenient ones, such as when, according to Temple rumor, a two-years-old and extremely pouty Shaak Ti had set her family’s tent on fire, almost burning to the ground the entire camp of their pack.

Those portentous children were then sent to the Jedi Temple, where a proficient mastering of their still rough shielding technique became an absolute necessity, least they wanted to be damned to the life of perpetual emotional shock – and subsequent migraine – that the presence of so many Force Sensitives living under the same roof would cause.

By the time the Younglings became Initiates, they were able, alas, to shield their thoughts and their intentions from their peers, an ability that, much as it was essential for a future Jedi Knight, could become a true nuisance for the unfortunate crèche Masters whenever they were faced with particularly naughty scamps, always ready to make a prank on their unsuspecting fellow crèchelings.

Every Initiate deemed worthy of the Jedi Path became a Padawan before turning thirteen. The wise Master would always urge the relentless teen to practice and hone his or her shielding technique, often to no avail: the overeager young Jedi, anxious to learn every advanced kata or discover the until then forbidden mysteries of the Force, would certainly prefer not to bother with boring and useless shielding meditation. Shielding exercise became, then, the most frequent kind of punishment for the unruly apprentice.

Of course, the wise Master knew better, and the Padawan would soon grasp the magnitude of the Master’s wisdom. This realization usually came at the first surge of teenage heat, when the sight of the eyes - or lekku, or montrals, or any other of the myriad species’ natural enticements - of the unfortunate Padawan’s first crush would solicit the most totally un-Jedi and unbecoming thoughts and desires. It was then that the Padawan would inwardly thank the wise Master who had forced the insubordinate student to perfect a technique that was now preventing those thoughts and images and desires from being broadcasted into the Force for the whole Temple – and, Force forbids, the objects of those same secret cravings – to behold.

The Senior Padawan, having moved past the jets of puberty, would then discover that there were other things that needed to be hidden and treasured behind flaming shields of iron will, things far more embarrassing and intimate than the simple pulses of nature: the first forbidden heartbreak, the discovery of an ally’s betrayal, the loss of a friend, sometimes even the estrangement from a Master.

But it was only after the Trials that the newly appointed Knight of the Republic would understand at last that shielding was the unspoken cornerstone over which the entire Order was built. Shielding was what allowed Jedi to hide from each other their flaws and failings, the flaming mark of unworthiness, the eternal struggle of those who wanted to walk upon the Path of Light.

They all knew that it was not hypocrisy: it was sheer necessity.

With their gift came a burden, and sometimes that burden needed to be carried alone, in darkness, with the Force itself as only witness and ally. It was a burden that could not be shared: the whole Order would collapse under the combined weight of its members’ fears and grief and desires.

That said, notwithstanding thousands of lives spent over perfecting the technique, only a few Jedi in the history of the Order, a very few of them, had ever mastered the _perfect_ shield. The foremost quality of the perfect shield was not merely its impregnability: it was its invisibility.

No one could break a shield that could not be sensed.

Master Yoda was one of those few who had ever attained perfect mastery. He just didn’t seem to have shields.

In the Force, he felt like a pond. A few Jedi, in the last millennium of history of the Order, had tried to peek into the Grandmaster’s soul. They had deluded themselves into thinking that it could be easy to dive inside him, but once under the surface they had seen nothing in the murky water, nothing at all. They had swam deeper, and deeper, until they reached the bottom, and still they had seen or sensed nothing, save the green twirl of refracted light. In that moment they came to realize they’d got lost in the unreadable mind of the Order’s Grandmaster, and the green troll’s amused chuckle forced them to emerge from their probing in embarrassment and shame.

That day, Obi-Wan Kenobi had spent most of his morning meditation reflecting about shielding technique. As usual, believing himself to be just an average Jedi, he thought he possessed nothing more than an average shield. This humility was, as all the Order save him knew far too well, what made him so much more than an average Jedi. His shielding technique, for instance, was almost as perfect as Yoda’s: having wholeheartedly accepted to be a flawed Jedi, Obi-Wan didn’t think he had anything to hide from his fellow Jedi. His failures where there for everyone to see: he thought they all knew everything there was to know about Melida/Daan, about Satine, about his grief at Qui-Gon’s death, about Anakin. His shields were as transparent as crystal, but as hard as diamond: no one could see them, so no one tried to peer behind them. That was why none of them, save maybe Yoda, had ever been truly able to grasp the magnitude of what he thought was his greatest failing, that of attachment. At the same time, regrettably, his humbleness could too easily become his downfall: thinking himself to be an open book, he didn’t realize that, most of the time, others had no idea of the depth of his feeling. Only Qui-Gon Jinn and Satine Kryze had ever been able to read the depths of his soul, and that was because they had slammed so many times against his transparent armor, both in the Force and in his feelings, that from experience they had learnt what to look for. Unfortunately, the one who had never understood at all how Obi-Wan’s – admittedly contorted – soul worked was his apprentice, who had always thought that he had only so seldom seen his Master’s feelings just because most of the times there were none at all.

Obi-Wan himself was, of course, totally oblivious of all of this. That was why, when he sat on his chair on the Jedi High Council for the first time after Ahsoka’s revelation of her provenance from a future so horrible that the mere thought of it made him want to wear himself out with training so that exertion would lead him to dreamless sleep, his greatest fear was that his shielding would prove ineffective and lead the whole Council to discover a secret that he had agreed to keep for himself. Once again, his humility saved him – and only the Force knew how many others with him: believing himself to be unable to keep such a secret hidden in his soul, he had merely let go of all his fears and hopes into the Force. He was convinced that only the Force could help him. Thinking that he could do nothing to hide his secret if any of his colleagues started to doubt the truthfulness of the lies he had concocted with Ahsoka, but trusting in the Force to intervene and hide his knowledge if it deemed it worthy, he unknowingly built a shield so powerful that not even Yoda sensed its presence. In short, Obi-Wan’s mistrust in his own abilities – which were, of course, what truly made his shields what they were – and his surrender to the will of the Force, a Force that would have laughed at his expenses if it could, were what in the end made him able to fool the whole Council.

“This is alarming news, Obi-Wan. Are you sure your source is reliable?”, Mace Windu asked, glaring at him from upon the triangle made by his fingers, his elbows resting on his knees.

“I am.” Obi-Wan sighed. “At first I couldn’t believe it myself, but the evidence is too compelling.”

Ripples of disquiet flowed under the domed ceiling of the Council Chamber, centering around the seat over which the harbinger of those ill news was graciously slumped, hiding the gauntness gifted upon him by two sleepless, nightmare-ridden nights behind his ginger beard.

“How could none of us realize what was happening?”, Shaak-Ti enquired, her beautiful holoimage frowning in distress.

“We’ve been too busy fighting this war to remember looking at the outside world, I’m afraid”, Obi-Wan replied sourly, meaning much more than he could say aloud.

“The future of our Order, forsaken we have.”

Yoda’s statement was followed by a silence so thick that a lightsaber could neatly cut through it. Obi-Wan shifted nervously on his chair, praying to the Force he knew what he was doing.

“Alarming as it is, at least now we know.” Plo’s rumbling voice broke the silence with its calming steadiness.

“This is true”, Ki-Adi Mundi convened, nodding portentously with his elongated head. “Mace, what do you suggest we do?”, he asked, turning towards the of the Council, followed by the eyes of all his colleagues. “I say we send the clones.”

“No”, Mace replied, shaking his head somberly. “The GAR can’t be involved. This is Jedi business. And, moreover, we can’t afford to show such a weakness to the galaxy.” He turned to look pensively at his colleague who had brought the dreadful news. “Obi-Wan, we owe this precious intel to you, so it is to you that this mission will be entrusted. You can select the Jedi you want to accompany you.”

Obi-Wan seemed to ponder the matter. He still couldn’t believe he had been able to fool all of them, even Yoda – even _Yoda_ , for Force’s sake – into believing that his besalisk friend Dex had heard the rumor that a bunch of Trandoshan huntsmen kept a group of kidnapped Padawans and Initiates prisoners and hunted them for sport. “I think it would be wise to bring Padawan Tano with me. Master Plo and I can take care of the Trandoshans while Ahsoka goes in search of the children and protects them from the battle. She is agile and cunning and her Togruta senses will surely come in handy in such a situation.”

Mace Windu nodded gravely. “Very well. Ask Skywalker for permission to take his Padawan with you and then you may leave.”

Obi-Wan found himself catching his breath and tried to hide his reaction behind a deferential bow. He had hoped to be able to avoid contacting his former Padawan so soon after Ahsoka’s revelation, but apparently the time of reckoning would come sooner than he’d liked. Maybe, after all, it was better if their first contact was on a commlink rather then in person. “I will”, he murmured.

All the Councilors nodded in agreement and then, one by one, they rose from their seats.

“May the Force be with you”, Yoda said, dismissing them.

 _May the Force be with us all_ , Obi-Wan thought warily as he made his way out of the Council Chamber, lifting his hood to hide his pensive features in its shadows.

 

* * *

  

Anakin dizzily woke up from the longest night of sleep he’d had since longer than he cared to remember; he had to blink thrice before he could recall where he was and how was it possible that he had actually been able to sleep until he felt truly rested. The only thing he didn’t need to remember was the identity of the person he had been sleeping with: the vague scent of Nubian bluebells still filled both the air and his own skin, and Padmé’s loving presence in the Force had never left his side, enveloping him in its warm and reassuring embrace as he slept. His night had been dreamless: the mere presence of his wife was enough to soothe all his fears, and with her at his side he felt safe. He grinned at the thought: a General of the GAR, feeling truly safe only when he could rest in his wife’s arms.

A faint blade of light seeped from under the door, barely enough to let him discern Padmé’s delicate features, even more beautiful now that she was deeply asleep, all fears and troubles momentarily set aside. Even now, two years into their marriage, the fact that he could call such an impossibly perfect creature as _his_ – his angel, his lover, his _wife_ \- still struck him as something he didn’t deserve.

As if feeling the strength of his gaze, Padmé stirred and blinked her eyes open. Her smile was like the dawning sun that tore apart the darkness of night to shine bright over the clear waters of Naboo’s lakes.

“Ani”, she murmured, her voice still husky. “How long until ETA?”

“Do I look like a navicomputer?”, he asked grinning.

Padmé gathered enough strength to roll her eyes.

“Why don’t you check?”

“Why care?”, he replied, rolling under the blankets on his side to move closer to her. “We’ll hear the alarms when we revert to realspace.” He only had a glimpse of her eyes rolling again before he started kissing teasingly her bare shoulders.

“Ani”, she tried to scold him, her voice not even remotely convincing, “you know you can’t be here when we revert to realspace. We shouldn’t have…”

Anakin muted her words with his lips, kissing her wantonly, drowning in the pure perfection of her tender warmth. At first, she was still too sleepy to put up a convincing fight; when she was finally awake she had lost all her will to struggle, and succumbed to his kisses eagerly. After minutes, or maybe hours, that somehow felt like a too brief eternity, Padmé found herself smiling against her husband’s bare shoulder as he caressed her tangled hair; his sweat smelled of sand and japor wood. She could feel his heart, still racing, pounding against her palm. She had missed him so much that being back in his arms almost hurt.

“What where you saying, about what we shouldn’t do?”, he asked her teasingly.

“Oh well”, she giggled, beaming. “If I were a Jedi, I’d say you’re tempting me to the Dark Side.” Anakin chortled. “Anyway, talking about things Jedi shouldn’t do”, she added, smiling mischievously, “I heard the clones of the 374th gossiping about Master Fisto and Aayla Secura. Is that true, Ani?”

Anakin kept combing her hair with his fingers, his frown invisible in the penumbra. “Those gossiping clones. And I thought that nothing could be worse than Padawans.”

Padmé disentangled gently from his arms and sat beside him, leaning her back against the headrest with a smirk. “Are Padawans gossips?”, she inquired, her eyes brightened by sheer curiosity. It was rare for Anakin to speak openly about the actual people that made up the Order. In his words, the Jedi Order usually seemed like some sort of enormous, many-headed monster with a single, sluggish body, weighted by millennia of conservative traditions. It was refreshing to hear that there were _people_ in it as well, people that didn’t only throw themselves into battle brandishing astonishing blades of light, but that also ate and drank and gossiped… and loved, maybe.

“You have no idea”, Anakin snorted. “They’re insufferable.”

“And were you a gossip as well?”

“Of course not.”

Padmé lifted her left eyebrow skeptically.

“I wasn’t.” Anakin sighed. “They never gossiped with me. Only _about_ me, Kenobi’s strange slave boy”, he added sourly.

Feeling his distress, she moved nearer and caressed his cheek gently. “It must have been hard.”

Anakin shrugged. “Not that bad. I had Obi-Wan, and anyway I never enjoyed gossip.”

“But I do”, she replied impishly, deciding to revert to her previous, safer subject. “So, what about Fisto and Secura?”, she enquired.

Anakin rolled his eyes and bent back his head to look at her. “They are close, nothing more. They’re good Jedi, unlike me.”

“Are you sure?”, she asked, lowering her head to press a gentle kiss on his pouting lips and pretending she had not heard that last remark. “One of the clones was sure they’d been sharing quarters on their last mission. Jedi are not celibates, aren’t they?”

“You forget I grew up with Obi-Wan… we didn’t talk about those… _things_. I don’t really know what the rules are. I never cared, I was never interested in… well, you know”, he mumbled, blushing, “and when I met you again I wanted you as my wife and _that_ was clearly forbidden.”

Padmé nodded, pensive. “Well, if they have a relationship indeed, this must mean they are in love. To me, they seem too close to be just bed-buddies”, she considered.

“Padmé!”, Anakin shrieked, scandalized. She shook her head in diverted amusement.

“Don’t be a prude… You know, the right to enjoy life is not confined to married couples. So, what do you think?”

“Why do you even care?”, he asked, exasperated and still a little shocked from his wife’s outspokenness.

“I merely want to understand, Ani. Your world seems so strange, and we so seldom have time to discuss those things.”

He sighed. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t say that such… _things_ are encouraged, but no one really cares as long as there’s no attachment. Anyway, as you said, Kit and Aayla are friends. Maybe they shared quarters because they needed to meditate.”

Padmé almost choked on her laughter. “That’s what you call spending a night in a fellow Jedi’s quarter? _Meditating_?”

Anakin blushed deeply. “Why not? I share quarters with Obi-Wan!”

Padmé smirked. “I think there is a little difference, you know… They aren’t Master and Padawan, and I know from the HoloNet they’re not usually partners in battle. Moreover, she is so beautiful, I’m sure she has her share of suitors… And he’s quite handsome as well.”

Anakin eyes flashed in alarm, and he pulled himself up on his right elbow to be at level with her gaze, all prudish reserves forgotten. “What do you mean?”

Puzzled but diverted at this jealous reaction, Padmé snorted. “Anakin, just because I’m your wife it doesn’t mean I’m _blind_!”

“But he has _tentacles_!”, he protested indignantly.

At that, Padmé couldn’t refrain from roaring with laughter; Anakin, not knowing if he was feeling more peeved or amused, threw a pillow at her with the Force. “Oh, you are such a farm-boy! _Tentacles_ ”, she giggled, catching the offending pillow and resting it against her chest, her arms crossed around it. “They’re not so different from long hair, and green is a beautiful color. Besides, he has the most contagious smile ever.”

Anakin looked at her as if she’d just said that she found Jabba the Hutt handsome. “ _Sarlaccs_ have tentacles! They are not hair and they are not beautiful!”

Padmé laughed even harder. “You’ve travelled all over the galaxy and still you compare everything to Tatooinian fauna? It’s no wonder that nothing is beautiful for you – unless it’s a droid or a speeder, of course”, she added as a second thought.

“You are beautiful to me”, he retorted, piqued.

The seriousness in his voice stopped her laughter, but couldn’t dim her hilarity. “Why, do I remind you of C3-P0?” she asked, her eyes wide-open in mocking surprise.

Anakin sneered. “Sometimes. You both fuss unnervingly all over me. At least _he_ doesn’t embarrass me so much when we speak.”

At this, Padmé threw back the pillow at him with all the strength of her arms. “Then you should have married him”, she retorted. “You know, being told that your conversation is more awkward than C3P0’s is, well… _offensive_.”

A predatory smile surfaced on Anakin’s lips. “Well, that’s why I married you… I didn’t marry just for _conversation_ , and for this I think I’d rather have you than Seethree”, he growled, his voice coarsened again by desire.

“I’m humbled”, she murmured against his lips, utterly baffled by this blatantly flirtatious version of her husband; except from his awkward flirting before Geonosis, whose clumsiness she attributed both to his young age and to his complete lack of previous experience, Anakin had turned out to be quite prudish, at least in speech. They had been married for two years and he still blushed when she made some _double entendre_ , just as he had before when she had used the term “bed-buddy”. Apparently, jealousy made him playfully possessive, she registered for future reference as he kissed her hungrily.

Anakin’s hands were deeply entangled in her impossibly disheveled hair when the beeping of his commlink brought them abruptly back to reality. He growled all his displeasure at the interruption before summoning the felonious device to his outstretched palm with the Force.

“Skywalker”, he rumbled, lifting his weight from Padmé and rolling on his back, gesturing her to curl under his left arm.

 _“Anakin.”_ Obi-Wan’s voice was tense, almost cold; it seemed to have crossed the Galaxy only to cast its judgment upon him – or was it only his guilt-driven imagination? _“I received news of your success on Mon Cala. Good job, my friend.”_

It was definitely his guilt. He tried to forget just for a moment the sensation of Padmé’s breath against his chest, but that made him feel, if possible, only more guilty. “Thank you. We would never have made it without the Gungans, though.”

_“Lucky for us we are on Jar Jar’s good book, then.”_

Anakin could almost see his former Master’s ironic frown; he chuckled and felt Padmé repressing a smirk against his collarbone, but this only made his guilt come back.

“Very lucky”, he said sourly.

 _“Are you feeling unwell?”_ , came Obi-Wan concerned enquiry.

“No, Master, only tired.” Force, why did he have to always slip into the old honorific when he felt like a child caught with his nose in the cookie jar? “Why did you comm me?”

_“Oh. Yes. I need to borrow your Padawan for a mission. Nothing too dangerous.”_

Anakin frowned. “What kind of mission?”, he asked skeptically. He wasn’t about to let Ahsoka follow that madman based only on Obi-Wan’s definition of “ _not dangerous_ ”. After his former Master had explained the situation, however, Anakin had to agree that it was, after all, not so dangerous.

“And why do you want Ahsoka for that?”, he asked anyway.

_“We don’t have enough Knights available right now, and I prefer to take a Padawan I’ve already worked with. Moreover, her Togurta senses might prove useful.”_

“Very well, you can bring her with you. You know, Obi-Wan, it’s past time you took another Padawan. You can’t go on stealing mine. And don’t tell me again that you’re still _recovering from the rigors of your last one_. You’ll never recover as long as you keep sticking with me.”

An uncomfortable silence followed what Anakin had intended only as a joking remark.

_“Are you tired of joint missions, Anakin?”_

Anakin swore under his breath. Why was it always so difficult with Obi-Wan?

“No, not at all. It was just a joke, Obi-Wan, relax.”

 _“Oh.”_ Anakin thought he could almost feel Obi-Wan’s relief radiating from the commlink. _“Well, I will think about it. Still, I don’t think it’s time yet. Maybe when the war is over. Not now, no. Who will be there for you if I’m not?”_

A charge of static marked the sudden end of the conversation, leaving Anakin to stare frowning at the blinking light of the commlink. Obi-Wan’s concern for him was touching, of course, but the intensity in his voice had left a bitter aftertaste in Anakin’s mouth.

“What was that all about, Ani?”

Still dumbfounded, Anakin turned to look at his wife.

“I have no idea”, he confessed, shaking his head. He sighed. “The only thing I know is that I’d better leave. Maybe you’re right, and Kit and Aayla are trusted to be able to prevent their feelings from clouding their judgment, but since Geonosis Obi-Wan made it abundantly clear he doesn’t trust _me_ to do the same with my feelings for you. The last thing I want right now is a bunch of gossiping clones and a disappointed Master. No one in his right mind would believe we’ve been _meditating_.”

He kissed her quickly and stormed out of the room, worried and upset. _Really, Obi-Wan, what was that all about?_

 

* * *

Surely one of the places Ahsoka had never wished to visit again was Wasskah, Trandosha’s moon. Her memories echoed with the grief and the guilt that had followed Kalifa’s death; she knew that it had not been her fault, that had she not been there the younglings would have possibly never been found, but she had felt anyway responsible for encouraging her younger friend to go out in the open instead than hiding. The fear she could smell in the air, however, was not born from her memories: the damp earth was drenched with dread, the trees and leaves themselves seemed to exude horror and fright.

Only that, this time, Ahsoka wasn’t the pray but the hunter.

Her Togruta senses and her memories didn’t betray her: drifting swiftly between the decaying trunks and the thorny scrubs, she readily found the way to the cave the younglings had chosen as their refuge.

She knew she was going to frighten the poor younglings to death; she had hidden her Force-presence in order to prevent them from doing something foolish as they sensed her approach. Hurriedly but silently, hidden in the deep shadows, she reached the bottom of the old tree that granted access to the opening and in three muffled jumps she was in front of the mouth of the cave.

“I used to take down full battalions of droid, why don’t you trust me to take down a few overgrown lizards?”

Caleb Dume’s hushed voice was an angry ripple in the silence of the night. How young he sounded! She remembered having seen him a few times in her Padawan years, but the two of them had never had the chance to properly meet until much later, when they were both part of the Rebellion. She tried not to think about what fate had befallen him and Ezra, if they had been able to escape Vader, if they still existed at all.

“The Order must have grown desperate to allow you to become a Padawan, Caleb!”, came the retort from the voice of a young girl. Kalifa, alive and strong-willed as ever. Ahsoka had to fight back a lonely tear. “You are insufferable. We’re not going to put our lives into the hands of a thirteen-years-old who thinks himself to be a Jedi Master.”

“I do not…”

“Yes you do! Look at yourself! You’re here, pouting and complaining, and the only action you have taken so far is to break your hand against the wall of a cave!”

“Well, you’re not letting me do anything else!”

“You won’t need to do anything now”, Ahsoka said, deciding it was better to interrupt their squabble before they woke up the entire wildlife of Wasskah. She entered the cave lightening up her saber but keeping it lowered in a non-offensive stance, to present herself with the symbol of the Order they all had been part of. “We’ve come to rescue you. You are safe.”

The children had all gotten to their feet, their Jedi training clearly showing in the defensive stance they had adopted, their fists clenched in stead of a proper weapon.

“Who are you?”, Kalifa enquired, stepping naturally into her unspoken role of leader of the gang.

“My name is Ahsoka Tano”, Ahsoka replied. “I’m a Padawan, and I’m here to take you to safety before the strike team sent by the Jedi attacks the Trandoshan hunters.”

Kalifa didn’t lower her fists.

“How do we know we can trust you?”, she asked, her voice only slightly shaking. Ahsoka could see now, even more clearly than she had back then, how the lack of any hope of rescue had roughened the children.

“I know you”, Caleb whispered moving towards her, his astonishingly green eyes sparkling in the silver light of Ahsoka’s sabers. “You are Skywalker’s Padawan”, he added, almost in awe.

Ahsoka couldn’t repress a grin. The moniker of Hero with no Fear attributed to Anakin by the HoloNet and his heroics in the war had not struck the imagination only of the Republic’s citizens, but that of the youngest Jedi as well. She remembered how the children looked at him with hardly-concealed veneration as he strode through the Temple halls. Those same children that he would… No, that was not the time to let those thoughts resurface.

“Yes, that’s me. I don’t know if you remember, but we sparred a few times when I was still an Initiate.”

Caleb nodded with a smile. “I do remember. Is Skywalker here as well?”, he asked hopefully.

Ahsoka shook her head with a grin. “No, right now he’s on his way to Coruscant from Mon Cala. Master Kenobi and Master Koon are leading the strike team.”

Caleb’s mouth slackened. “They sent two members of the Council to rescue us?”

Ahsoka smiled at him warmly. “Does that surprise you?”

“Yes, it does”, Kalifa intervened, her voice hard. “I believed they had forgotten us. But of course, we are only Initiates, Caleb here is the Padawan of a former Councilor. It was obvious they would go looking for him.”

Ahsoka sighed. Of course she could very easily sympathize with any kind of complaint against the Council, but in this specific instance they were actually innocent. It would have been impossible to find the kidnapped younglings in a Galaxy at war without any clue as to their whereabouts.

“No, Kalifa, it’s not like that, believe me. We only found you because an informant told a member of the Council about a clan of Trandoshans hunting young Jedi.”

Kalifa looked at her with weary eyes.

“How do you know my name?”

Ahsoka bit her lip. “We searched the list of missing younglings. I saw an holopicture of you.” This time the way out was easy, but she ought to be more mindful. “The Jedi never forgot you. They simply couldn’t track you. You see”, she added, shutting off her sabers and clipping them to her hips, “the Jedi are not infallible. Even with the help of the Force, they can do only so much. But as soon as they had the means to rescue you, they sent us. Now come, it is not safe here.”

After a brief moment of thinking and an unspoken conversation with her companions, Kalifa nodded. “Let us just grab our things”, she said, putting on her shoulders a small sack that looked as if it had been made from the hide of some hunted animal.

The slightest sound of approaching non-human footstep had Ahsoka turning swiftly, her lit sabers ready in her hands to defend the children. The stars shining above the mouth of the cave were darkened by some large creature, powerfully built, tall and very, very hairy.

“ _Muaahh oh rreh?_ ”

Of course, the Wookie – oh Force, Chewbacca, _that_ Chewbacca, she had never made the connection, it was unbelievable how small the Galaxy was sometimes – was smart enough to recognize a Jedi when he saw one, so his stance was only slightly offensive, just in case. His head, bended on his side, only showed his surprise.

“ _Ruh gwyaaaag. Ruh_ Jedi”, Ahsoka replied, powering down her sabers and clipping them back on her utility belt.

“You speak Shyriiwook?”, Kalifa asked in surprise.

Ahsoka nodded. “My name is Ahsoka Tano”, she introduced herself reverting to Basic and presenting her hand to the giant Wookie.

Chewbacca shook it with bone-breaking strength and roared his pleasure at the unexpected meeting.

“Nice to meet you, Chewbacca. I was just telling the kids to follow me to the extraction point. A Jedi team will come to take us to Master Kenobi’s ship. We can arrange you a transport for Kashyyyk or wherever you need to go.”

The Wookie roared enthusiastically and Ahsoka smiled. “Of course the Jedi would come. We do not leave our own, nor those who are in need.”

It was only as they silently run through the lush forest that Ahsoka realized it was the first time she had said _we_ referring to the Jedi not because she had to but actually meaning it. For that fleeting moment, she had unknowingly felt again part of the Order she had left behind when they’d abandoned her in her direst moment of need. Surely she wasn’t done with her past yet, but now it dawned on her that, apparently, her past didn’t seem to be done with her either.

 

* * *

 

The rescue mission went as smoothly as it could be hoped. As soon as Ahsoka, Chewbacca and the younglings had made it out of the cave, she called for the extraction team to get them. The small Jedi corvette commanded by Obi-Wan left its orbit above Kashyyyk and reached Wasskah in less than fifteen minutes; another five minutes and, in perfect timing with the escapees’ arrival at the extraction point, a small gunship arrived to pick them up. On the way back to the cruiser, they met Obi-Wan and Plo Koon’s fighters squadron descending as prey-birds towards the Trandoshans’ dropship. In the space of an hour, the Trandoshans had been secured into the cruiser’s cells, ready to submit to Jedi justice, and the children, showered and clothed in clean Jedi robes, were happily engaged in a battle without quarter against the food reserves of the ship.

Obi-Wan was beaming at them from the corridor that lead to the small refectory. A child’s appetite was one of the few certainty still to be found in a Galaxy gone awry, he fondly thought, remembering the pleasure ten-years-old Anakin took in methodically dismembering the enormous burgers Obi-Wan always brought back to the Temple when he went to see Dex.

Smiling at the memory, he strode towards the children and sat down at their table.

“Feeling better already?”, he asked, and laughed as all the answer he got were enthusiastic nods; they all had their mouths too full to properly speak.

“What will happen to us now?”, asked Jinx, the Twi-Lek youngling, as soon as he had finished chewing an enormous amount of muja cake.

“I don’t know”, Obi-Wan admitted. “The Council will assess your situation.”

“We are all past thirteen”, Kalifa sighed, nervously mutilating with her spoon the blue milk pudding in her plate.

Obi-Wan put his hand on her wrist reassuringly. “This isn’t an issue, young one.”

“But we cannot become Padawans anymore. We’re too old, but it’s not our fault.”

“My master chose me when I was past my thirteenth birthday”, he told her in a conspiratorial tone. Three pairs of eyes darted to his face, shining with hope and bewilderment. “I was already on Bandomeer with the AgriCorps when he decided to take me as his apprentice. If the Force wants you to become Jedi, you will.”

“I wouldn’t mind the AgriCorps”, the Cerean boy, O-Mer, admitted. “I’m not sure I want to fight, I’ve seen enough blood for a lifetime, and on Wasskah I discovered how beautiful nature can be.”

“Well, at least something good was born from your ordeal”, Obi-Wan replied. “I trust the Council will give you enough time to decide what you want to do. They will understand your situation.”

He then turned to Caleb, who had been silent until that moment.

“How do you feel, Caleb?”

The boy looked at him with weary eyes. “Useless. I am a Padawan, but I couldn’t do anything to escape and bring the others to safety.”

“You weren’t given enough time, Caleb”, came Ahsoka’s voice. Smiling, she sat down beside Obi-Wan.

He nodded. “My Master used to say that in time, the solution for every problem will present itself. Maybe it was not your destiny to be the one to find the solution, maybe something would have happened to let you save your friends. Anyway remember, sometimes even a Jedi Master needs rescuing. Ask Padawan Tano about our mission to rescue Master Piell.”

His words seemed to have had the hoped effect on the boy, for he managed a true smile.

“Well, anyway I’m looking forward to being home. I can’t wait to see my Master again.”

With a pang in his heart, Obi-Wan realized that, of course, Caleb had no idea that Depa was now in the Healing Halls, fighting against the despair her brush with the Dark Side has left as an unhealed scar in her soul. He just didn’t have the heart to tell him right now.

He looked up at Ahsoka, who nodded gloomily, her eyes dimmed by a sadness that went beyond their present situation. In unspoken agreement, they rose from their seats, leaving the younglings to their task of finishing what remained of their food. Obi-Wan and followed her into an empty room, locking the door behind them.

“We were all so young”, she sighed.

Obi-Wan nodded silently. “How did you escape?”, he asked her.

“Chewbacca managed to send a distress signal to Kashyyyk, but that was not before, in my brashness, I convinced them to try and fight back.”

“It was a brave thing to do”, he replied smiling.

“Maybe. Still, it cost Kalifa her life.”

Obi-Wan’s shock echoed through the Force. “She didn’t make it?”

“No. To see her here… To see Caleb. It hurts, Master, it hurts so much. I’m glad I could save her, but it doesn’t change the fact that she died.” Slowly, Ahsoka sat on an empty desk, her still short legs dangling a feet from the plasteel floor. “I thought it would lessen the pain, I thought that seeing her alive and well again would make me happy, would give me hope. I was wrong.” She hid her face in her hands. “I realized that, no matter what will happen, no matter how many lives my knowledge will save, those who died will still be dead. It’s only me who is the same person. They are not. And if they die again, I will have to mourn them twice. Master…”

She looked at him, and Obi-Wan knew that the anguish he saw burning in her eyes would haunt his memory until his last breath. “No matter what will happen, my Anakin will remain a Sith, he will still have killed all those people. Eighteen days ago he tried his best to kill me. This will never change. I left him and he Fell, and I will regret that forever.”

 

* * *

 

Back at the Temple, Obi-Wan was deeply entranced into meditation. He wasn’t searching for anything but a way out of his own thoughts, so he had dived head-first into the Force, abandoning himself to its currents. It seemed, however, that the Force had no intention of freeing him: the drifting tides had soon showed their nature, driving him towards the heart of the maelstrom. Which was, of course, Anakin. The Chosen One, purportedly born to the Force itself. And that was the core of the problem, Anakin’s double nature, that of a person and that of his destiny. Obi-Wan had tried to train him as he thought Qui-Gon would have. At first, it had been hard: in its own pain, Obi-Wan had been cold and detached. But then Anakin’s spontaneous glee, his brashness, his innocence had breached the wall of grief Obi-Wan had hidden behind, and he had started to regard that impish urchin from Tatooine, the _pathetic lifeform_ Qui-Gon’s dying wish had bestowed upon him, as a younger brother, an orphan just as he was. He had never been able to shape Anakin into the mythical warrior he was maybe supposed to be, the blade of Light to be thrust into the heart of Darkness itself. Was this the key of his failure? Was the affection – _love, love_ , you hypocrite – he harbored for his apprentice going to be the trigger for the Galaxy’s destruction?

He was almost drowning now, his fears and his guilt sweeping against his struggling consciousness as it tried to remain afloat. A new current surged, roaring with the infernal power of a primeval storm. Water turns to fire and a voice echoes in the surge, an agonizing scream, yelling _“I hate you!”_ to the deaf stars.

“Blast it”, Obi-Wan growled as he opened his eyes. He was lying on his back on the cold floor of his room, his hair sticky with sweat. Apparently, he was not ready for meditation yet. He would have to steam off in the dojo; the best option would be to challenge Mace Windu himself, probably some Vaapad would do him good, but he knew better than to risk opening his unsettled soul to the stern Korun Master in a duel.

Sighing, he settled for a shower and a cup of tea; at the moment it seemed the safest option. He was stroking his wet hair with a towel and the kettle had just started wheezing when someone knocked at his door.

“One moment”, he cried, drying his chest and putting on a pair of linen leggings and a clean tunic. As if he had evoked him, when he went to open the door he found Mace Windu staring at him from the doorframe.

“Mace. Come in, I just made some tea.”

Mace surveyed sternly his wet hair, loose tunic and bare feet.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Obi-Wan.”

He shrugged. “I was merely taking a shower. It’s a pleasure to have a guest.”

“I’m afraid I must decline. Obi-Wan, I need you to come with me to see Depa. There is something we have to talk to you about.”

Mildly concerned, Obi-Wan rubbed his beard. “Does it concern our last mission?”, he asked, uneasy. He just hoped that he and Ahsoka had not already blown their cover.

“It does. If you will follow me”, he replied in a tone that admitted no reply. Sighing, Obi-Wan nodded.

“Just give me some time to make myself presentable, will you?”, he asked, receiving a tired smile as a reply.

 

* * *

 

Like everything else in Vokara Che’s sanitized realm, the room where Depa Billaba was recovering from her relapse into her Dark Side-driven depressive state was luminous and tidy. A faint smell of soft soap rose from the clean sheets on the bed, a fresh gush of air made the light curtains dance and the warm sunlight gently caressed the convalescent’s face.

Still, beneath the spotless appearance, as soon as he entered the room Obi-Wan could feel the tainting undercurrents of the Dark Side, its tendrils enveloping in a choking embrace the soul of the woman sitting against a heap of pillows. She was emaciated and gaunt, her cheeks hollowed and her lips dry and thin. Her dark eyes shone like embers against the purple shadows that encircled them.

“Depa.”

In the Force, there was no need to ask her how she was doing. He merely sat on the edge of the bed and took her hands into his, sending her all the comfort he could through the Force.

“Obi-Wan. You have my undying gratitude for saving Caleb.”

“I did very little”, he said, shifting his weight uneasily. “It is my informant the one you should be grateful to.”

Depa smiled warily. “It was as the Force willed, and it willed you to be the means to Caleb’s saving.”

“I’m just glad I could help.”

Silence settled between them, not an unpleasing one. Obi-Wan knew that he had not been summoned with his hair still damp merely for a social call, but there was no haste in the Force. It drifted placidly with the wind, trying to drive the darkness away from Depa, giving her fresh air to breathe and fill her lungs with, giving her hope to cling to.

“I’m so sorry”, he whispered.

“It is as the Force willed it. It is my battle, and I will fight it until my last breath. I am glad to have you by my side, Master Kenobi.”

He lifted her slender hands and kissed their back gently. “Whenever you need me, Master Billaba.”

Obi-Wan was still holding her hands when the door slid open and Mace Windu entered, accompanied by Caleb Dume. From the misery that echoed in the Force, he knew that Caleb had been told what had happened to his Master.

“Master”, he greeted her, slowly advancing towards her bed. It was clear he was doing his best to stop himself from running into her arms. She outstretched her hands and he intertwined his fingers in hers. “Master Kenobi”, he said, acknowledging his presence with a slight yet deferential bow of his head.

“Caleb”, he said. He would not say he was sorry in front of Depa, and there were no other words to be said.

“Obi-Wan”, Depa whispered, her hands still clasping her Padawan’s. “I requested you to come here because I need you to do something for me. I know I’m asking much of you, but there is no one else I would trust with this. You know I’m not fit to train anymore, and it’s possible I won’t be for a long time. Vokara won’t say how long it can take, but she agreed with my decision.” She looked at him straight in the eyes. “Will you take Caleb as your Padawan learner for me?”

Obi-Wan couldn’t suppress a shiver.

_“You know, Obi-Wan, it’s past time you took another Padawan.” “I don’t think it’s time yet. Maybe when the war is over. Not now, no.”_

No, not now, no.

“Depa, I…”

Obi-Wan shrank as he felt Caleb’s hurt reverberating into the Force. He knew only too well how it felt to be slighted by a Master, to be cast aside.

“I’m very honored, but I’m not sure it’s the best thing to do. We already have a Padawan.”

Mace frowned.

“I never knew you and Skywalker _shared_ his Padawan”, he said sternly.

“No, of course not. It’s just that I think that taking one Padawan into battle is risky enough… to take two, it would be folly.”

“There is no need for you and Skywalker to be on conjoint missions all the time. We can pair you with another Knight.”

“No.” The harshness of his voice shocked even Obi-Wan. Mace regarded him with a displeased frown, while Caleb was following the exchange with growing unease. Depa just sighed. “We’re too good together. You know it, Mace. To split us up would be madness.”

If Mace Windu had had a hairline, his eyebrows would have darted beneath it. Being things as they were, they merely seemed to be climbing all the way to the summit of his bald head.

“I never knew you to be one to boast, Kenobi.”

The use of his surname marked point, but Obi-Wan didn’t back down. “I’m merely stating the truth.”

“Very well. You have adjusted to one Padawan, you can adjust to another, if you are as good as you claim. Moreover, Yoda keeps saying that Tano is becoming more and more powerful with every passing day. He’s a little worried for the speed of her progress but he’s proud of her nonetheless. He’ll propose to Skywalker to promote her to Senior Padawan tomorrow.”

Well, things were getting worse and worse. The last thing they needed was Yoda meddling with Ahsoka’s growing powers.

“Whose idea was this?”, he asked.

“Mine”, came Caleb’s shaking voice.

Biting his lips, Obi-Wan turned his back to Mace and knelt in front of the boy, who was now sitting on the edge of Depa’s bed. She left his hands, and he clenched his fists on his lap.

“Why?”, he asked the boy, feeling deep shame as he registered the wetness that covered his green eyes.

“Because when I was still an Initiate I once thought that, if I couldn’t be Master Billaba’s Padawan, I hoped to be yours”, he said shakily, his cheeks blushed. “I felt a connection in the Force.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. The Force was swirling gently around them, pushing them towards the Light. Obi-Wan sighed, than he realized that the _them_ he had felt included also Depa. There could still be a way out of that mess, an unconventional way to say the least, but still it was worth a try.

“Very well. Caleb, I will take you as my Padawan learner.” He rose to his feet, and the boy followed his example. Obi-Wan put his hands on Caleb’s shoulders, holding him with gentle firmness. “I think all of us wished that this wasn’t necessary, but it is as the Force willed. I ask you only one thing.” He turned towards Depa. “If you trust me so much as to give me your apprentice, I hope you will trust me for this as well. I request you not to sever your bond with Caleb, so that I won’t have to sever mine with Anakin. This way, when you’ll feel better, there will be nothing preventing you from taking Caleb back. I will train him as my own, but I will never claim him as such.” He could not leave Anakin, not now, not now, and maybe not ever.

Caleb was beaming, Depa’s eyes where shining with gratitude and Mace, feeling that the Force made no objection to that unprecedented suggestion, could do nothing but nod.

“The Council will have the last word on this, but I think it will do. You always have it your way, Kenobi”, he groaned.

“If only that were so”, Obi-Wan whispered, remembering the image of Anakin’s mutilated body engulfed in flames. “If only that were so.”

 

* * *

 

Purposefully striding through the Room of a Thousand Fountains, Anakin made his way towards the corridor that led to the training dojo. As soon as he’d landed on Coruscant, he’d found on his commlink a message from Obi-Wan asking him to meet the following morning in the Temple gardens. The serious tone of his voice, added to the still lingering distress caused by that strange conversation they’d had that same morning had left Anakin so upset that he had decided to return to the Temple at once. He’d already been to Obi-Wan’s quarters but had found his apartment empty – too empty. He peered inside the training rooms, but his former Master was nowhere to be found among the sweating fighters, nor was he in the mediation garden. In the mess, where there was no trace of him either, Anakin stumbled at last upon Garen Muln.

“Hey, Garen”, he called him, “Have you seen Obi-Wan?”

“Anakin! Nice to have you back. I haven’t seen the old rascal in a while, why?”

“I’m looking for him but he isn’t in his room.”

Garen nodded. “Oh, yes. I’ve heard the Quartermaster say that he moved to the dorm wing on level besh-ought-four.”

Anakin frowned at the information. Why would Obi-Wan move back to their old wing, that composed of two-rooms apartments?

“Thank you, Garen.”

“Will you stop for a drink? Quinlan Vos told me we’ve just received a full shipment of Tarisian Ale latest brew.”

“Oh, not now, maybe later. Thank you again.”

“Say hello to the old man for me, will you?”

Anakin nodded and took his leave, walking so fast he was almost running. Something was out of place, and the fact that he couldn’t feel Obi-Wan meant that he was shielding so badly he was almost invisible in the Force. Knowing fully well that it was a very childish thing to do, Anakin strengthened his own shields, almost disappearing into the continuous buzzing that echoed in the Living Force with so many Jedi living in the same place. If Obi-Wan didn’t want to be found but had no problem in leaving Anakin stewing in disquiet, he was up for a good surprise.

When he reached the quarters wing he realized with a wince that he hadn’t even enquired about which door was actually the right one. Cursing inwardly at himself, he hopelessly looked at the dozen of doors opening on the spacious corridor; he wasn’t really inclined on knocking at each door until he found his Master as a sniveling youngling. He stretched his feelings and realized he could sense Ahsoka’s presence in a room on the opposite side of that in which their apartment was. Scowling, he made for the door, and was almost surprised when it opened at the touch of his palm. At least, Obi-Wan wasn’t intentioned on keeping him out.

The scene that appeared before his eyes as the panel slid open froze his heart in his chest. Ahsoka was sitting on the armrest of a soft couch, her head bent down towards Obi-Wan’s. They were so deeply absorbed in their conversation that they didn’t even notice his appearance. Obi-Wan’s right hand was clasped between hers, while his left was absently stroking the brown wavy hair of an unknown boy fast asleep on his lap.

They looked worried and tired, but the picture they projected in the Force felt so serene, so calm, so… _whole_. And a whole thing didn’t need another piece to fit in, Anakin thought with a pang of longing for something he couldn’t name, something that made his mother’s face resurface from a black pit in his soul. Not knowing what to think, not knowing what to do, Anakin was about to turn and leave silently to rush back to Padmé when Obi-Wan felt his presence at last.

“Anakin.”

Chill filled the room as Anakin turned back to face them; the sensation was so strong that the stranger boy awoke with a startled gasp.

“Hush, hush”, Obi-Wan promptly whispered, his comforting hands ready to clasp his shoulders. Gently pulling him aside, he got up. Anakin didn’t move; he couldn’t.

“I’m sorry to have interrupted. I’ll take my leave”, he said, expressionless.

“You didn’t interrupt anything. I didn’t think you were going to come back to the Temple tonight.”

“And pray, where else was I supposed to go?”, Anakin snapped, knowing very well the answer. He was so angry – mostly towards himself, because he was painfully aware that there was actually nothing to be angry for – that he almost hoped that Obi-Wan dared accept his challenge, but of course that most annoying man knew better than to rise to his bait.

“I… I don’t know. I’m sorry. Had I known, I would have arranged a meeting tonight.” He turned towards the boy, who was looking at Anakin with badly-suppressed awe, and gestured him to get up. Ahsoka’s expression was utterly blank. “Caleb, may I introduce you Anakin Skywalker?”

The boy favored Anakin with his most deferential bow. “I’m honored to meet you, Knight Skywalker”, he whispered.

Anakin nodded. There was a sudden lump in his throat that prevented him from speaking; the pieces of the puzzle had come together and he was beginning to think he liked the final picture far less that he would have imagined.

“Anakin, this is Caleb Dume.” He exhaled, looking as if he was bracing for some kind of impact. “Caleb is my new Padawan.”

The impact was as powerful as that of a Star Destroyer diving headfirst into Anakin’s heart. Trying to catch his breath, he felt Ahsoka’s eyes on him and forced himself to speak.

“Nice to meet you, Caleb.” The words came out of his throat less strangled than he had feared. He definitely didn’t like the picture. And to think that it had been him who had suggested it to Obi-Wan mere hours before… And he hadn’t forgotten the strength of Obi-Wan’s refusal. Apparently, Obi-Wan had. “Well, Obi-Wan, that’s… that’s new.”

As totally new was the suffocating sensation that grew in the pit of his stomach, a slithering feeling that clutched his lungs and his heart as he pictured Obi-Wan taking his place as Ahsoka’s Master – they had been so near, why were they so near – and, at the same time, this newcomer taking his place as Obi-Wan’s Padawan – Obi-Wan had seemed so protective towards him, more than Anakin could remember him being towards Anakin himself. His mind was about to picture another man – a man who unnervingly resembled that slimy son of a Hutt that went by the name of Rush Clovis – taking his place as Padmé’s husband, when he decided he had had too much.

“I just came by to see if you were up for a drink”, he blatantly lied. “See you at our rendezvous tomorrow. I’m sorry, Garen is waiting for me in the mess. A new shipment of Tarisian Ale has just arrived. Goodnight”, he spluttered, turning on his heels and running away as soon as the door had closed behind him, running to Padmé, to make sure that she, at least, was still his. His and only his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last the wait is over. I don't think I will update soon, at least until October will only update once a month, but I promise I will try to keep up to this schedule.  
> As always, thank you all for your feedback and your support.  
> [Edit] I know there hasn't been much Ahsoka in this last chapter. Forgive her, she's still figuring things out. Her role will emerge as we go on.  
> Concerning Depa Billaba, I tried to keep both her Canon story, with her taking a Padawan, and her EU story, with her fall to the Dark Side. Of course we must somehow expunge most of her crimes, so I decided to leave most of her past unspoken and have her weakened and more easily prone to be overcome by her negative emotions - something like a Dark Side depressive syndrome.


	11. Uncharted space

“It wasn’t meant to be like this.” Exhaling deeply, Obi-Wan slammed the glass of Corellian brandy he had just drained on the table. “I wanted to break the news to him differently. To have the time to make him understand.”

Ahsoka was sitting beside him. Given the current circumstances and the fact that she was now a thirty-three years old woman, Obi-Wan had decided that for a night he would forget the issue of her liver’s actual age and had poured her a generous share of the brandy he believed she was more than entitled to drink; but the glass waited, still full, on the coffee table, its only use that of being a focus for her blank stare.

“It never happened back then. I don’t know what to make of this.” She twitched nervously the tip of her left lekku with one hand. “Obi-Wan, we’re travelling through uncharted space.”

Obi-Wan squeezed her shoulder in sympathy. He had told her to stop calling him Master, it was making him feel old. “And what is life, if not a journey through uncharted space?”

Her gaze was still focused on the glass; the golden liquor seemed to shake of its own volition under her scrutiny, a small show of distress from the Force. “But then what’s the meaning of what happened to me? What use is my knowledge, if everything changes? How…”

Fear clutched at her throat, a sudden lump extinguishing her words.

Obi-Wan rose to his feet, rushing to close the door that led to the sleeping quarters where Caleb was now deeply asleep.

“The Force will present a solution”, he said in his best imitation of Qui-Gon Jinn’s voice, knowing all too well that Ahsoka could not recognize nor the inflexion nor the words. He was doing it only to pierce his own growing doubts with the brilliant blade of his Master’s wisdom. _But had Qui-Gon really been wise in the first place?_ , wondered a bitter voice in is soul. _He is dangerous. Everyone can see it, why can’t you?_

Ahsoka groaned, unaware of the acrid undercurrents in Obi-Wan’s mind. Her own past was all she could see. “Last time, it didn’t.”

This gained her a cocked eyebrow. “It brought you here.”

“Which brings us back to my question. To what avail?”

Obi-Wan stroke his beard, honestly not knowing what to think. “I suppose that all of this was meant to be. It is the will of the Force.”

“Then the Force must have a very twisted sense of humor”, Ahsoka snapped.

Obi-Wan winched. It sounded slightly blasphemous, especially since he couldn’t hear any trace of jibe in her tone, but he couldn’t find it in himself the strength to rebuke her. “There is something you can do, Ahsoka. There are things your knowledge can still prevent”, he encouraged her instead.

Ahsoka sighed. “Yes, I know”, she said gloomily. “Order 66. I will do what I can, of course, as soon as the possibility to do something arises. I truly wish to be able to save the Order, Master, but I don’t think that’s the reason why I’m here.”

Obi-Wan glared at her intensely. “And what do you think this reason is?”

“Anakin”, she replied simply. “He _is_ the Chosen One. Mortis made that clear, and I don’t think the Daughter would have twisted the laws of time and space in such an unnatural way for anything less important. But how? What can we do? What can _I_ do?”

Obi-Wan knew he had no answer to this.

“Trust the Force”, he simply said, but the words sounded as empty as his glass.

 

* * *

 

“He took a Padawan. A Padawan! Without telling me!”

Trying hard not to roll her eyes, Padmé looked resignedly at her husband, who was nervously pacing her living room, his food left untouched on the table; she was tired and only wanted to sleep but was forcing herself to listen patiently as he repeated for the umpteenth time the news he had brought her more than three hours ago.

“You told him to do so. I was there, Anakin, I heard you”, she tried to reason.

“But he didn’t want to! He didn’t have to! Why did he do it?”

“Why don’t you ask him, instead of me?”, she snapped at last, throwing her head back on the headrest of the couch. “Seriously, Ani, you’re making such a fuss over a thing you suggested yourself. Please, let’s go to bed, I’m tired.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Ani.” Sighing, Padmé got up and crossed the room to reach her husband, who was now staring blankly into Coruscant luminous night. She pressed her palms against his chest, resting her head against him. He enveloped her in a tight, almost possessive embrace, pressing his lips to her hair. “What’s making you so upset, Anakin? This won’t change your relationship. Nothing changed when Ahsoka arrived. On the contrary, your relationship has improved. I can see it, everybody sees it.”

“It’s… it’s not that. Well, not only that.”

“And what is the problem, then?”

Anakin sighed, his warm breath caressing the top of her head.

“I don’t know. It’s not only him, it’s Ahsoka as well. They seemed so… content. Even without me. Maybe _because_ they were without me. I’ve never seen them so close.”

Padmé disentangled from his arms to look him in the eye.

“Ani, don’t be a paranoid. It’s a good thing they get along well. There’s no need to be troubled.”

Anakin backed away to lean his back against the anta of the balcony, grasping his face with his hands.

“There is no need. That’s the problem. I can’t explain it, Padmé, not to someone who doesn’t feel the Force. When I stumbled upon them I felt… _estranged._ Kept out. Willingly.”

“Kept out from what?”

“I don’t know. Like I didn’t belong there. I don’t know why, but it made me remember my mother”, he whispered contritely, almost as if he hadn’t really wanted to spill that particular truth.

Padmé shivered. The mention of Shmi Skywalker brought with it a series of particularly awful memories, not only of her death, which had been a tragedy, but also of what had followed, of the brutal massacre Anakin had perpetrated on his mother’s torturers… and on the women and the children as well. She shut the thought out of her consciousness, like she had done since the moment she’d decided to declare her love for him on Geonosis. She had to separate her Anakin, her sweet, prudish, brave husband from the shadow that had slaughtered an entire tribe; there was no other way she could accept to love him.

“Your mother? Why?”

Anakin closed his eyes. “Because they looked like a family. The family the Jedi took away from me, the family Obi-Wan was never able to be for me. There was around them a feeling of something I want to have, something I once had, but not anymore.”

“Oh, Ani”, she murmured, sliding beside him and encircling his heaving chest with her arms. “You have me. I am your wife. I _am_ family.”

Anakin bent his head to kiss her, and she could feel his desperate gratitude on her lips.

“Yes, you are, and one day, when the war is over, we will have children as well.” He blinked. “Still, it hurt. I needed a father, I even _told him_ he was the closest thing I had to a father, and he refused to be one. And now, with this unknown boy, the role came to him so easily.” His whisper had grown into a growl, and he knew that the venom in his voice wouldn’t escape Padmé’s notice.

“Anakin, you seem to forget he was twenty-five at the time.”

“Yes.” He forced his mechanical fist open. “And I was ten, and I had just lost my mother.”

“And he had just lost the closest thing _he_ ever had to a father.”

“More the reason to understand what I needed.”

Padmé sighed. “Ani, sometimes grief brings out the worst of us.”

“Trust me, I know that far too well”, Anakin growled, turning his back on her and slamming against the wall the same fist he had just tried to unclench.

“I… I’m sorry, Anakin.” Silence stretched awkwardly between them, pointed by the faintest trace of fear. “He loves you, Anakin, I’m sure of that”, she added at last, her voice shaking.

Anakin huffed. “The words _Obi-Wan_ and _love_ don’t fit in the same sentence. And he is a Jedi, a precious, perfect Jedi.”

This time, Padmé could do nothing to stop her eyes from rolling. “Why are you jealous, then? If it is as you say, he won’t love this boy either”, she said, her voice dry.

“I… I am not jealous!”, Anakin protested vehemently, turning once again to face her.

“Oh, yes you are.” She mollified at his discomfort and smiled gently, lifting a hand to caress his cheek. He leant into the warm comfort of the contact. “Anakin, listen to me. Obi-Wan was young, don’t fault him for that. I’m sure he sees you as a sort of younger brother.”

Anakin wasn’t going to let her win all the strands of the argument.

“Still, this doesn’t explain what I felt between him and Ahsoka”, he said sourly.

“It might. Maybe sometimes she needs someone as Obi-Wan, someone older... You know, like you and the Chancellor. You are hardly a father to her, Anakin, you are the brash older brother she tries so hard to impress.”

Anakin scowled at her, glad to have an excuse to let that other unpleasant topic drop, his relationship with Palpatine that Obi-Wan had always frowned upon. “Are you implying I’m more foolhardy than my Padawan? The sixteen-years-old who managed to get on a mission to the most dangerous prison in the Galaxy?”

Padmé regarded him with an amused frown. “Says the one who blew up a control ship at ten.”

“Only to impress you, my Queen.”

Her laughter was a balm for his soul. “Such a wasted effort. You only managed to impress me when you told me I had _grown beautiful for a Senator_ ”, she quoted, her eyes sparking with renewed glee.

The embarrassing memory made Anakin groan, and all his anger – _almost_ all – melt as he bent to kiss her lips and took her in his arms, carrying her to their bedroom, the only place in the universe where he could forget all but her love.

 

* * *

 

The gentle light of dawn poured sleepily over the gleaming surface of Coruscant when Anakin steered his speeder towards the Temple hangars. He had woken up at the image of Obi-Wan sternly telling him _“You will learn your place, young one”_. He blamed the rather unpleasant dream on the memories of his reunion with Padmé that she had brought back the night before. The rough landing didn’t do anything to improve his foul mood: when not even piloting could soothe his temper, it usually meant that the day could only get worse.

Emerging from the canopy with his finest selection of Huttese curses, he was about to head for the training dojos, ready to unleash his anger on the first unsuspecting Knight who dared proving his worth against the Hero with No Fear, when his eyes fell on Ahsoka, who was sitting in lotus position and deeply absorbed in meditation in the middle of the hangar. Frowning, he realized that she must have been waiting for his return; the thought startled him. Did she suspect as well what was going on between him and Padmé, as he suspected Obi-Wan did?

Anyway, he didn’t really want to speak, so he tried to move towards the exit doors as silently as he could, but apparently she had been searching for him in the Force, for he had not managed to cover even half of the distance when he heard her calling him.

“Master.”

With a sigh, Anakin moved towards her, outstretching his hand to help her up as he reached her. After all, there was no need to be rude. The smile she awarded him made his stomach jolt with guilt.

“Ahsoka. How long have you been waiting for me?”

“I could not sleep. The hangar is as good as any other place for meditation”, she replied, slyly avoiding the question.

“Another bad habit acquired from Obi-Wan?”, he asked, not knowing if he was referring to meditation or to this unnervingly shrewd side of his Padawan that, he could swear, was getting worse day by day.

“I wouldn’t call it a _bad habit_ , Master”, she smirked. “You know, you could use some meditation too.”

“Thank you but not.”

She shook his head with fond amusement.

“Shall we go have breakfast? Master Kenobi told me you’ll meet him in an hour. We have time for a caff and I brought some cookies I baked with Caleb yesterday.”

Anakin darkened at the mention of his _rival_ , feeling stupid as soon as the word formed in his mind, but he had the good sense to try and conceal his irritation.

“Yeah, I don’t mind eating something”, he replied lightly, darkening inwardly at thought of what kind of morning awaited him. This unplanned breakfast surely wasn’t merely a social call; then, there was that dreaded meeting with Obi-Wan, and after that a Council summoning. He bitterly thought that he missed battle dearly. At least, droids didn’t want to _talk_. The same could not be said about his fellow Jedi, who didn’t seem to have any higher aspiration than spending their lives in perpetual and useless babbling, moreover most of the times just dancing around the issue without directly addressing it.

When they reached the small apartment they had so seldom shared, both because of the war and of Anakin’s perpetual running off to Padmé, he threw himself on the couch as Ahsoka put the caff on. “Do you want a cookie?”, she asked, presenting him a tray full of wonderfully smelling biscuits. Anakin’s stomach grumbled and he realized that it had been a day since he’d last eaten.

Lazily, he summoned one of the cookies to his open mouth and bit it, a feat that made Ahsoka roll her eyes and mouth: “I won’t tell Master Obi-Wan”. As soon as he registered the rich and spicy flavor of the cookies, Anakin widened his eyes in an expression of astonished delight; before Ahsoka could even have the time to laugh at the face he had made, three more biscuits were floating towards his greedy hand.

“What in the Galaxy are these?”, he asked, enthusiastically swallowing the first generous bite. “They’re… wizard.”

“They’re Wookie Cookies”, she chirped. “Chewbacca gave me the receipt –he’s the Wookie we freed from the Trandoshans – the trick is Tach gland butter. They’re wonderful, aren’t they?”

“Woah. Next time there’s a mission to Kashyyyk, I’ll make sure they send us.”

“Oh, wonderful, so I can have a Master the size of a Hutt.”

His mood considerably improved by the cookies, Anakin fashioned his face in what he thought was a dignified expression. “My metabolism is quite active, my young Padawan”, he proclaimed, his mouth full of the biscuit he was still enthusiastically chewing.

“Not for long, Skyguy. They say you start aging at twenty.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t tell _this_ to Obi-Wan.”

Stifling a giggle and pouring the caff into two mugs, Ahsoka sat down beside him.

“How are you, Anakin? Truthfully?”, she asked, lightly brushing his knee with her free hand.

He frowned, both at the question and at her use of his name instead of the honorific. Apparently, it was going to become an habit.

“Why do you ask?”

Ahsoka snorted. “Well, because yesterday you fled as if you’d seen a gundark in Master Obi-Wan’s living room.”

“I would never flee from a gundark.”

Ahsoka curled the corner of her lips in a smirk. “That’s not what he told me about your last encounter with one.”

“Yeah, the usual cherry picker. I bet he didn’t tell you about our _first_ encounter with a nest of gundarks. Back then…”

“Anakin, please. I’m serious. What’s troubling you?”, she interrupted his bantering – his always easy escape.

Groaning in frustration, Anakin decided that in the future he would take another Padawan only if the Council gave him permission to train a droid. The image of Threepio brandishing a lightsaber escaped his shields and flashed in their bond, gaining him a very puzzled frown from his apprentice.

“I didn’t expect Obi-Wan to get a new Padawan”, he admitted, hurriedly trying to glide over that embarrassing slip. “That’s all, I was tired and surprised and not ready for a proper introduction.”

“Well, that’s for you two to sort out. My problem is, I sensed your irritation towards me as well.”

Cursing inwardly at his lousy shielding, Anakin shook his head. “No, no, not at all, Snips”, he lied. “I was only very tired, really.” How could he even start telling her that he had felt excluded, that he had thought about his mother because they had looked like a family, happy without him? He could not, he would not be _whiny Skywalker_ , as he knew some of his fellow Padawans had dubbed him, in front of his own apprentice. “On the contrary, I have to thank you for that tip about my helmet. It was flawed, you were right, had I not checked I would have drowned.”

He gifted her with one of those smiles he knew the HoloNet defined “ _dazzling_ ”, hoping that it would be enough to let her drop this attempt at in-depth conversation. Apparently, though, she was smarter than that.

“I get it, Master, you don’t want to talk about it.” She scowled at him and he felt almost – almost – guilty. “I’m sorry, but you will anyway. I’m not letting you go.”

“Force, Snips, what’s gotten into you?”, Anakin snapped. “Can’t we just have breakfast like civilized people?”

Ahsoka’s lekku twitched, her lips curled. “Since when you’ve been caring about being civilized?”

“Since my mother taught me it was rude to insist when other people don’t want to talk. Especially at breakfast”, he said dryly.

“Ok, so I’ll do the talking. You just listen. Is that civilized enough?”

Anakin mumbled something intelligible into his mug. The mollifying effect of the cookies had worn off and he thought sourly that his bad feelings about the upcoming day was turning out to have been quite on point.

“I know this war is going down hard on you, Master. I know you’re not well, I can sense it. I only wanted to tell you this: if you ever need to talk about it, about anything… I will be here if you need me. I know I am your Padawan”, she added hastily, increasingly worried at Anakin’s blank expression, “But I’m not dumb. I know there are things you can’t tell Master Obi-Wan. You can tell me. I just wanted you to know this.”

Anakin stared at her in disquieted awe. Gulping down the last remains of his cookie, he passed his hand in his hair. Unbidden, Padmé’s image formed in his mind. He knew he had to get that secret off his chest, but to entrust that secret to his teenage apprentice, to burden her with a secret she could not share, to force her to lie to Obi-Wan and to all the Order… that was something no decent person could do.

“You have grown, Snips”, he said at last, barely conscious of the thin thread of nostalgia interweaved in his words. “This war has made you grow up before your time. I’m sorry.”

A dark cloud of sadness blurred her eyes for the briefest moment, but it was enough for Anakin to hold his breath in the face of the depth of her feelings; what unsettled him most, though, was that not even a drop of it leaked into their bonds. Not only she had grown a shielding ability that was worthy of a full-fledged Knight, but she was also using it to shield herself from him.

“What are you keeping from me, Ahsoka?”, he asked her, unable to contain himself.

“Forgive me, Anakin”, she said, looking miserable. “We all have our ghosts.”

 _Twin sunset bleeding on the sand. I killed them, and not only the men, but the women, and the children_.

“You shouldn’t”, he croaked. “You’re too young.” He had been nineteen. Barely older.

“It’s not only the war”, she said. “It’s the darkness that surrounds everything. Even here, I can feel it, it creeps under my skin. How can you bear it?”

Anakin shivered. _They are animals, and I slaughtered like animals._

“I try”, he whispered. “I’m not very good at it, though.”

“There is no try.” A tremulous smile surfaced on her lips. “There is the Force.”

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan was sitting cross-legged on the soft grass of the Temple gardens, a peaceful spot lit by the gentle, albeit artificial, rays of the morning sun. Any inattentive Jedi would have thought, in passing him by, that the infamous Negotiator was meditating, probably wanting to steam off and release into the Force the horrendous toll of pressure and distress the war was without doubt exacting on him. Truth be told, he wasn’t even trying.

For once in his life, Obi-Wan was merely thinking, just as any other non-Force sensitive being in the Galaxy. Meditation hadn’t come to him easily these last days, not since Ahsoka’s revelation, and he wasn’t sure, should he try to plunge into the Force in search for a solace he didn’t think he deserved, that he would be able to keep his shields from failing and spilling the secrets of a blood-stained galaxy to the blissfully unaware Jedi Order.

He was silently reliving his life, from the moment Qui-Gon Jinn had taken him as his Padawan, a memory now so remote it seemed to belong to someone else, to that faithful mission on Naboo, the beautiful but insignificant planet that had been the fulcrum of a momentous turn both in Obi-Wan’s own fate and in that of the Galaxy at large, destinies now so intertwined that the mere thought sent his head spinning. He thought of Tatooine, under whose twin suns had come the double, scorching revelation, the return of the Sith and the birth of the promised child, the Chosen One conceived to bring balance to the Force, whatever that could _kriffin’_ mean.

This, this was the crucial point, the swelling knot of fates Obi-Wan knew he had to unravel, though he couldn’t even fathom where to begin. Could it really be that the destiny of billions of living beings, the destiny perhaps of the Force itself, had to be placed on the shoulders of a man, destined to carry it alone against the darkness?

What was the underlying truth, the unintelligible message to be found in it, an obscure prophecy lost in the mists of time designating a man – a mere boy, with all the flaws, weaknesses and desires of a human being, those flaws that made him who he was and that not even his Jedi training had been able to uproot – to be a weapon crafted by the Force for the destruction of the Sith? How could those two realities coexist, that of the Child of the Prophecy and that of Anakin Skywalker?

He thought of the Jedi and the Sith of the past, legendary creatures shrouded in a halo of mystery, with outlandish names and gaudy armors and masks. Anakin Skywalker, with his contagious grin and his obsession for speeders and droids, hardly fit into such a flamboyant array. The thought managed to get a smile out of him, a smile that dried on his lips as he felt Anakin’s thunderous Force Signature approaching him. Hoping to be ready to face him, to face the man that could, in less than a year, betray everything he had ever believed in and slaughter his innocent brothers and sisters – the children, why the children – Obi-Wan opened his eyes.

“Anakin.”

The name sounded like a plea on his lips and, from the way Anakin’s brow furrowed, he must have felt it.

“Master. You wanted to see me.”

He stopped in front of where Obi-Wan was sitting, towering upon him, his nervousness betrayed by the way he shifted his weight from his left leg to his right. Obi-Wan cocked his head to look in his face, and as their eyes met he knew, with a certainty born from his precognition, with the same certainty that had shattered his heart mere seconds before Maul plunged his saberstaff into Qui-Gon’s heart, that there was nothing he wasn’t prepared to do in order to save Anakin from his demons. The fleeting moment of fateful knowledge was followed by a silent upsurge of fear. Was he really prepared to do _anything_ in order to save him? Or was there a limit that even his precognition acknowledged, a durasteel wall against which even fate would crash?

“Yes. I wanted to see you.” His voice was almost steady. “I think I owe you an explanation.”

“You owe me nothing. It’s me who has to apologize.” Anakin kneeled before him, his worst Padawan pout on his face; Obi-Wan couldn’t suppress his eyebrows from twitching in fond amusement. “My behavior yesterday was… highly inappropriate. I’m sorry, Master.”

“Anakin, I’m not your Master anymore”, Obi-Wan reprimanded him gently. “I haven’t been for a few years now.”

Anakin flinched. “I know. I know, that’s why I thought… it’s past time we severed our training bond”, he said, molding his pout into what he thought was a resolute expression; in the Force, though, both could sense the distressed twitching of the sapphire line holding them together, a rope made of innumerable moments intertwined, a bond that had become a part of them as if it were a limb or a piece of soul.

Obi-Wan repressed the shiver that the mere idea of severing the bond had elicited, but couldn’t help rolling his eyes; self-doubt kept gnawing at Anakin as it did when he was ten, and there seemed to be no way to uproot that particular defect. “Anakin. I accepted to train Caleb only at the condition that our training bond would remain intact.”

Anakin’s incredulous stare made him snort. The Force around them sparkled, sun on a sapphire cascade.

“Oh. Oh. I see.” He shook his head, still dumbfounded. “Why?”

“I hope to be only a temporary Master. She hasn’t rescinded her bond.”

“How in the Galaxy did you manage to convince the Council?”

“I told them just how many times our bond saved both our skins in battle.” Obi-Wan smiled his drollest smile, the Negotiator at his best. “You know, this prophecy of yours comes quite in handy when we need to overstep the boundaries set by our own rules. They wouldn’t risk losing you.”

Anakin laughed heartily. “You used the prophecy against the Council?”, he asked in bewilderment.

Obi-Wan beamed, positively pleased with himself. “The HoloNet calls me _the Negotiator_ for a reason, my still too young Padawan.”

“I am not your Padawan anymore. I haven’t been for several years, as you just reminded me”, Anakin retorted, grinning.

“You will always be my Padawan.”

The mechanical hand that Anakin was running through his air fell limply on his lap at the intensity in Obi-Wan’s voice. He stared into his former Master’s eyes and saw a thread of iron determination glistening among the green-blue sparkle of his iris.

“What’s gotten into you and Ahsoka lately? You’re cooing me like you were afraid I was about to go hysteric all over the Temple.”

“You seemed a little hysteric yesterday, to use you own words.”

“I was tired, ok?”, Anakin snapped. Obi-Wan had been expecting that. He knew his former Padawan didn’t like to be reminded of how unpredictable his behavior could be, but _unpredictable_ was almost an euphemism to describe _“turning to the Dark Side and becoming Sith in a year”_ , and that was definitely a problem that had to be addressed. “It’s the second time this morning I have this conversation. I’m fine, if you gloss over the fact that I’m risking my life on daily basis and that I’ve seen more death than food in the past three years. Anyway, it’s not like I’m the only one. You should look at yourself in the mirror before lecturing me.”

“I’m not lecturing you.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

“I want to know why you are so easily upset. It’s not good, Anakin. You are under a lot of stress and I worry for you.”

Anakin threw himself back on the grass, sprawling his limbs across the flowery patch.

“I am tired”, he repeated, punctuating each word heavily. “I am tired as you are, as we all are. I wasn’t expecting you to take a Padawan, especially not after our conversation yesterday morning. An now that we’re at it, you scared me. You were creepy. And you said you didn’t want to take another Padawan. What made you change your mind?”

“They virtually forced Caleb upon me”, Obi-Wan replied, evading Anakin’s remarks about their conversation. Of course he had been upset, it was the first time they had spoken after Ahsoka’s tale. “Mind you, I’m glad to train the boy, but they asked me in front of him, and when I hesitated…” Obi-Wan stroke his beard, his eyes shut. “You know, at first Qui-Gon didn’t want to take me. I know what it feels, to be rejected”, he admitted painfully.

“So do I.” The words were out of Anakin’s mouth before he could stop them, and Obi-Wan saw him biting his lips with guilt. “I’m sorry, Master, I…”

It was too late, the words had been uttered. A cold thread of ice run down Obi-Wan’s spine.

“What do you mean?”, he asked, his voice coarse.

“I… I never told you. I overheard you once. Here, on Coruscant. Telling Qui-Gon that I was… _dangerous_.”

Obi-Wan paled. He had never known Anakin had heard that. And to think that he had carried that in silence for all these years… “Anakin… I –I remember. I’m sorry you heard, you were not supposed to… I… I’m sorry.” He wanted to tell him that he had been wrong, that he wasn’t dangerous, that he was a great Jedi, but the memory of the slaughtered children in the Council Room choked the words in his throat.

Anakin averted his gaze. “I never wanted to tell you. I’m sorry. I know you were upset. Qui-Gon. Your trials. Me. Me especially, he put you aside for me.”

Future and past, so intermingled, so intertwined. Was really this how Vader had been born, had it been too late already then? How could he change the future if he could not change the past?

“Let’s say we didn’t have a great start.” Dry, wry, was it really all he could be? “But we made up for it, haven’t we?” He managed a smile. He owed him that, at least.

“If you say so”, Anakin replied, but it was pure banter, affection was a bright glow in the blue of his eyes. Obi-Wan’s heart seemed to skip a bit. Maybe it was not too late, and he painfully wondered what would happen, what could happen, to transform the smiling young man in front of him into a killing machine fueled by hate, into the maimed, yellow-eyed ghost who had screamed _“I hate you!”_ as fire engulfed him. He decided he didn’t really want to know. They would need to pursue that line of conversation further, to follow the loose threads and bridle them together as if in a new Padawan braid, but for the moment that truce had to be enough.

“Well, since your start with my new Padawan was not that brilliant either, what do you say about making it up for that as well?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“He’s been studying Form III with Depa and I want to see what he can do against a more aggressive form. Would you mind sparring with us before the Council meeting?”

Anakin grinned. “Gladly. Thank you for asking me, Obi-Wan.”

“I would ask no one else”, Obi-Wan said, bathing in the blue waves of their bond warmed by the glorious light of the Force, savoring the moment and refusing to wonder how long it would last.

 

* * *

 

“Very good, Caleb. I’ll have you show Ahsoka that there’s no need for a shoto to cover your weak side… No, no, that footwork won’t do, even a battle droid would be smart enough to make you stumble.”

Blushing, Caleb stepped back and resumed a basic block stance of Form III, but his opponent’s lightsaber – he was dueling against Skywalker, Force, he was really sparring with him, wait until he could tell his friends – swung sideways in a frenzied descent towards his unguarded ankles. Panting from the exertion but unwilling to be hit, he summoned what strength he had left and managed to perform a backflip that put enough space between him and the pulsing blue blade.

“Very good”, came his new Master’s encouraging voice from the balcony above.

“You’re already spoiling him with Ataru, I see”, Skywalker said, cocking his head back to grin at Kenobi.

“You only say that because you’re lousy at it.”

Emboldened by this open praise of his abilities and seeing that Skywalker was still looking at his former Master in search of a fitting retort, Caleb lunged forward, aiming at the Knight’s unprotected left side. Against all his expectations, however, the blue lightsaber was already there to meet his – did he _teleport_ it? – and a moment after the blade was stinging his left shoulder – wait, it was _exactly_ on the opposite side – and then his right ankle – how in the Force?

“If you have to be so rash, Caleb, at least don’t telegraph your intentions”, Skywalker told him with a grin, as the panting boy threw himself on the floor massaging his offended flesh. “Feigning is an essential part of dueling.”

“This is extraordinary. Where was I when you became a subtle duelist, Anakin?”, Kenobi asked, his eyes shining behind his ironic frown as he descended the stairs that led from the observation balcony to the dueling floor. “And what have you done to my Padawan?”

“I’m fine”, Caleb blurted, even though his shoulder was hitching as the seventh Sith hell.

“You fought very well. I’m most impressed”, Kenobi congratulated him after a swift assessment of his injuries. Caleb blushed at the praise, then averted his eyes as a fit of nostalgia for his former Master clenched his chest. Apparently Kenobi understood, for he smiled gently at him and patted him on his shoulder. “Now get up and go to the healers, tell Master Che to give you some bacta for that shoulder. In the meantime, if you wish, you can go visit Master Billaba.”

Gratitude flooded him. “Thank you, Master.” He got to his feet and limped towards Skywalker, who was now smiling at him so fondly that the scene of the previous evening was almost forgotten. “Thank you for the lesson, Master Skywalker. It has been most instructive”, he said, bowing at the Knight.

“Well, it’s only the first of a long series. I won’t leave you alone to survive training with this madman.”

Caleb widened his eyes in confusion. How was he supposed to reply to such a statement? Was it normal, for a Jedi Knight, to label a Master – a Councilor, no less! – as a _“madman”_?

“Anakin, be a good boy and don’t frighten my apprentice. And you, Caleb, don’t listen to this reprobate. He’s only jealous, every time he tried Ataru when he was your age he just managed to entangle himself in his own overgrown limbs.”

More confused than ever, Caleb decided that the only apt strategy for this peculiar kind of battle was to flee. Bowing hurriedly one last time, he limped as fast as he could towards the door, which he reached sighing in relief, but not before he could hear Skywalker say: “And you say that only because probably you had already stopped growing by the time you were fourteen.”

By the time he had reached the Halls of Healing he realized he was grinning inwardly; this was going to be very different than it would have with Master Billaba, but the mere thought that the two greatest heroes of the war, the Negotiator and the Hero with No Fear, spent so much of their free time just _bantering_ was… refreshing. His grin only spread further when, upon opening the doors of Master Che’s waiting room, he was engulfed in a tight hug by his new friend Kalifa, who was laughing among her tears. “Caleb… Caleb, you have no idea of what happened. I came here for that wound on my leg, you know, and Master Che asked him how I had treated it, and I showed her my herbs, yes, I brought them with me… She loved it, she was so impressed! Caleb, she asked me to become her Padawan.”

 

* * *

 

The High Council Room was unusually crowded that morning. Obi-Wan occupied the exact center of the room, both his hands clasping gently the shoulders of his bruised but happy new Padawan. On their left, Anakin and Ahsoka stood side by side, while on their right were Vokara Che and a beaming Kalifa. Jinx and O-Mer were standing in the front line, both too overwhelmed by their illustrious company to dare looking anywhere above the point of their boots.

“Master Che, the Council approves your decision to take Kalifa Urion as your Padawan learner.” Mace Windu smiled from behind his intertwined fingers. “We all wish you well for your upcoming partnership. You are summoned to appear here at sunset to take your vows.”

Kalifa’s smile was so large it was threatening to eat her face; Ahsoka was finding herself sorely unable to disentangle her mixed feelings of joy for the present and grief for the past.

“May the Force be with you.” Yoda dismissed them with a gentle smile, and Ahsoka waved Kalifa goodbye as she passed her by, following her new Master to the door, into a new life that had once been precluded to her, a path that from now on would wander into unknown lands

“Obi-Wan. The Council has approved your conditions for taking Caleb as your new apprentice.”

The addressed Master bowed his head in acknowledgment, his new Padawan doing the same.

“Fighting with all her might and soul against the Dark, Master Billaba is.” Yoda’s grave voice was suffused with thin drops of hope. “Perhaps for short, this arrangement will be.”

“A Master must not have more than one Padawan; two Masters sharing a Padawan, although rare, is not an unprecedented event. We rely on you judgment and in the mutual trust between you and Master Billaba for this Padawan’s training.”

“I will do all that is in my power to ensure his training, as the Force wills it.”

The Force itself murmured in approval, echoing the nods of the Council Masters.

“It would be unwise to clear you so soon for active duty”, Mace Windu went on. “We believe it is best if you, your Padawan and the two Initiates went to Dantooine in meditational retreat for a week. Skywalker”, he added, turning his piercing gaze towards the younger Jedi, “Since you are on leave after your extended time on active duty, the Council suggests that you and your Padawan join Master Kenobi as well. We are aware of your Padawan’s rapidly growing powers and we think it would do you both good to stay away from battle for some time and focus on her training.”

Ahsoka searched for Obi-Wan’s eyes, her own flashing in barely-concealed alarm; this had not happened, not at all, in her previous lifetime. Obi-Wan seemed to understand the meaning of her gaze, but there was nothing he could do in front of the Council. Anakin, on his part, grimaced.

“Meditational retreat? Master Windu, I thank you, but…”

“Need this, you do as well, Skywalker.” Yoda’s ears twitched in amusement. Anakin’s distaste for meditation was no secret.

“Maybe, but…”

“Serious objections to this proposal, have you? Ready to listen, we are, if _serious_ your motives are.”

Notwithstanding her own anxiety, Ahsoka couldn’t refrain from grinning inwardly in seeing Anakin thus cornered.

Bowing his head in defeat, Anakin murmured: “No, Master, I have no objections.”

“Very well. Both for you and your Padawan, good this will be. A wondrous place, Dantooine is. A respite from battle you all need.”

“Perhaps”, Anakin grunted under his breath.

“And regarding your apprentice… Padawan Tano, the Council is very pleased with your training. Skywalker, the Council wishes to promote your apprentice to a Senior status. This will not change her rank in the GAR, but she will be given her first solo missions. Do you have any objections?”

Anakin stared at Mace Windu in apparent shock. “Ahsoka? Senior Padawan?” He winced. “But she is sixteen!”

“The same age you were when you were promoted, Anakin”, Obi-Wan remarked.

“But this means… she’ll become a Knight before turning twenty!”

“Nineteen, you were, when on Praesitlyn your worth you proved.”

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. She remembered that same exact scene in her previous lifetime, right after Waskaah. Some things were, after all, not going to change, and Anakin’s unwillingness to let her go was one of these. Only that this time, she swore to herself, she was going to see that through, at least until the end of the war, which was anyway going to be before her Trials, the Trials she knew she couldn’t take.

 _I am no Jedi_ , her own voice echoed in her head.

Only, this time, instead of the iron determination that had pervaded her when facing Vader, those same words echoed with a feeling that, somehow, felt like longing.

 

* * *

 

The domed-shape silhouette of the Senate Building could not even remotely boast the title of winner in that upward contest that had shaped the inner center of Galactic City, an artificial turmoil of towers and pinnacles racing one against the other, one higher than the other in a hurried ascent that seemed to have the insignificant sun named Coruscant Prime as its intended target; the large, somehow bulky structure, built to house the debates and decisions that in theory were meant to shape the Galaxy into a peaceful and concord mirror of freedom and democracy, looked, in Anakin’s eyes, like the head of a overlarge mushroom amidst a forest of secular trees. This unhappy assessment of what he thought was a very poor architectonical rendering of the symbolic value of the building was fortified even further by the tumultuous upheaval he could feel in the Force every time he strode along the finely decorated corridors, a shrieking chaos fueled by petty desires and malicious intents, a pandemonium toppled by a single word, _greed_ , a heel crushing entire systems under his unbearable weight.

Lucky for Padmé she couldn’t feel the Force, Anakin thought as he approached the closed door behind which he knew the Committee for the Revision of the Republic Financial Reform Bill was in a plenary albeit unofficial session to discuss the matter with the Chancellor himself.

Frustration seeped from behind the closed door, and he could sense that Padmé was the source of a great deal of it, together with her friend and now almost accomplice Bail Organa. A heated voice pierced the massive wooden panels, Mon Mothma’s, as Anakin realized, another staunch opponent of the Chancellor’s politics.

“This won’t be sustainable on the long run, Chancellor, you surely have to realize it! We can’t even provide the most basic forms of public sanity in many of the Outer Rim planets anymore. We are pushing them into the arms of the Confederacy!”

“Senator, this troubles me as much as it does you, but we have to make difficult choices.” The Chancellor had spoken in his usual calm voice, and Anakin had been able to hear his words only thanks to his Force-enhanced perceptions. He sounded tired; Anakin couldn’t even start to fathom how much the burden of responsibilities placed upon that gentle old man could be exhausting. In the mass of resentment and nervousness that swelled in the room, brushing against Palpatine’s presence was like touching a wet stone, slippery and honed, a smooth surface of calm resilience covering the hardened certainty of righteousness. “We cannot risk endangering the loyalty of the Mid and Inner Rim. It’s a shame that the most remote systems have to bear the brunt of this was, but we have no choice. Those words will be made our priority in the rebuilding effort.”

“Most of the Mid and Inner Rim planet could stand an increased taxation without suffering relevant economic backlash.”

“And just how well do you think Chandrila would react? Or Alderaan, or even Naboo? Not to speak about Corellia or Kuat.”

“There will be discontent but no actual threat for the local economies.”

“Think about it, Senator”, the Chancellor sighed, his voice more strained than ever. “Most of the Inner Rim planets are supporting a more… progressive approach to this war and your presence in this Senate is a testimony of that. If we start vexing them, if we force higher taxes upon them, it’s very likely that the pockets of discontent that are already present will fester, and this may cause a political shift in the upcoming election.”

“I won’t negotiate the values I stand for in exchange for a bunch of votes, Chancellor.” Padmé righteous indignation made Anakin smirk. She was a fiery warrior, and he admired and loved her for that, but she was also an impossibly unredeemable idealist.

“Senator Amidala, you are admirable but, forgive me, naïve. I would never suggest such a thing of you. I’m merely reminding you to look at the bigger picture. If all our most progressive voices in the Senate are silenced by the time the war is over and their place taken by warmongers and profiteers, how can we hope to achieve true peace?”

“And how can we hope to achieve it if we forsake the values our Republic is built upon in the name of expediency?”

“This war is not going to drag on much longer, Senator, and once the Separatists are subdued bankruptcy will be no more an issue. You know as well as I do that not all of our riches allies are really on our side; the independent federations have every right to free commerce, but there is no doubt that many murky maneuvers have been made in these years. When the war is over and we will have access to Confederacy data, we will uncover the evidence we need to prosecute those agencies that conspired with the Separatists. Confiscation of property will cover the expenses of the war and, I believe, there will be still a substantial leftover to rebuild our Republic.”

“We never thought the war would last for so long, yet here we are. What if it takes longer than planned to end this conflict for good?”

“My faith in our Jedi Generals is unshakable. They will end this conflict soon. I am surprised that you of all people should doubt it, Senator Organa. I thought you trusted in the abilities of your friend Master Kenobi.”

Anakin grimaced. It was unbelievable how the Chancellor had ended to be one their last staunch supporters; it was only fair he had put that pompous Organa in his right place.

“It is not a matter of trust, Chancellor”, Organa was saying. “The Jedi have suffered high casualties in this war.”

“One more reason to believe they will do their best to put an end to this horrendous conflict quickly. If you will excuse me, Senators, I have another meeting to attend. I understand your reasons and you have my sympathy but I advise you to heed my counsel. Don’t put your position in jeopardy for a war that will end in a matter of months. We will need you more than ever when the conflict is over. Think about what it would entail for those Outer Rim planets if, when the time for rebuilding comes, the government of our richest planets is in the hands of Senators who, unlike you, have at heart only their purses and the satisfaction of their electors. Our poorest planets will be left alone and the scars of this war will take ages to heal.”

Silence ensued this statement, and Anakin wondered once again how could Obi-Wan and Padmé not see that the Chancellor was right in every aspect and that, in times of war, sacrifices had to be made for the greater good.

“This meeting is adjourned.”

The sound of chair scratching the wooden floor and of footsteps painted a smile on Anakin’s face, but he swiftly repressed it to fashion his expression into his most convincing indifferent mien. The door opened and the smell of Nubian bluebells filled the air.

“General Skywalker.”

A courteous bow. He almost enjoyed this farce.

“Senator Amidala.”

“I hope no ill news brings you to the Senate.”

“Not at all, Senator”, he said, inwardly thinking that the fact he had come here to tell her he was leaving counted indeed as ill news. “I’m leaving this evening on a mission, but…”

“Anakin, my dear boy. I am so glad to see you.”

Anakin flashed Padmé’s impassable expression a sad smile, knowing fully well from the Force that she wasn’t pleased in the least by the news but she had been expecting it, before he turned to greet the Chancellor.

“Chancellor. The pleasure is mine.”

“To what do we owe this pleasure? It has been long since the last time we’ve seen each other.”

“Jedi business, your excellency. As I was telling Senator Amidala, I’m due to depart this evening but I still have to complete my report on our mission on Mon Cala, I was going to ask the Senator if she could spare me a little of her time to help me fill in some, say, technical gaps.” Padmé nodded her assent. “You know I’m at loss with political entanglements”, he added with a lopsided smile.

“And that is why you are so endearing, my dear. War has not tarnished you, nor have the enticements of politics. Senator Amidala, would you mind if I spoke with Anakin for a minute?”

“Of course, Chancellor. General Skywalker, I will be waiting for you in my office.”

“Thank you, Senator.” Palpatine smiled at her, a old uncle to his protégée. “I promise I won’t keep him long. I know your schedule is as busy as mine.”

She smiled, bowed her head in acknowledgment of the courtesy and turned on her heels.

The Chancellor gestured Anakin inside the now vacant meeting room, where he closed the doors behind them.

“My boy. I’ve heard of your deeds on Mon Cala. As I always told you, you are becoming the greatest Jedi of your Order.”

Anakin bowed his head meekly, mildly embarrassed but pleased at the praise nonetheless.

“Thank you, Chancellor.”

“Where are you heading this time? I thought the 501st was on leave this week.”

“They are, Sir. I’m going to Dantooine on Jedi business.”

“Dantooine? Wasn’t it freed by Master Windu last year?”

“It was, the war is not involved. I’m to go into meditational retreat.”

Palpatine frowned, his expression betraying his concern.

“Meditational retreat? I don’t know much about these things, but I assume you must have been troubled lately for the Council to deem such a mission needed in times of war.”

Anakin blushed, his fingers fidgeting with the hilt of his ‘saber.

“No, not at all, Sir. You see, Master Kenobi has taken on a new Padawan in dire circumstances and the Council thought they needed some time of relief from the war. Since I am on leave I will accompany them.”

The Chancellor smiled. “I am glad that at last your old Master has realized you are not in need of his guidance anymore. I wish him well with his new apprentice, and seeing what he did with you I’m sure he will turn a great Jedi.” The smile gave way to another flicker of confusion. “But if he has taken another apprentice, why would the Council want you to spend your leave meditating with him instead than resting here, at home?”

With Padmé. That was infuriating. “For a Jedi, home is wherever the Force is.” How fake it sounded, even to his own ears. “I suppose they want us to acquaint better, including my Padawan. After all, when this retreat is over we will have to fight together.”

“Oh.” The flicker of confusion had steadied into an expression of solid puzzlement. “I thought Master Kenobi taking an apprentice would entail no more conjoint mission.” Palpatine smiled again, all doubts swept away by his trust in the wisdom of the Jedi. “I’m sure the Council will soon understand you don’t need him anymore. Anyway, I’m glad for you that things played out this way. I know how much you value his guidance, even though you are more than ready to take your rightful place in the ranks of the Order.” He looked at the chrono. “My, my, Anakin, I’m sorry but I have to go, I had a meeting with the Senator from Taris scheduled for ten minutes ago. What is it that you say… May the Force be with you, my dear boy.”

As he left the Senate dome, Anakin could not help tasting a faint, sour trace tarnishing his sill uncut training bond, a Padawan braid that seemed, at last, to have long overgrown its natural length.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I got a flue and a temporary respite from real life, and here is the result. I don't know how this fic - thing - became so long, it really got out of my hands, and I promise that, after this meditational retreat, there will be more action and less talking. The bad guys are lurking in the dark but they'll be out soon to sow chaos in the galaxy. Thank you all, as ever, for your precious support!


	12. Through the eyes of the past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *KOTOR I-II SPOILER WARNING*  
> I don't know if this makes sense, given that the game has been out for fifteen years, but beware all the same: KOTOR spoilers ahead (meaning, if you don't know the plot and wish someday to play the game, stop reading right now and go playing. Seriously do go play it).  
> If you have not played the game and do not wish to play it in the future (please don't! Play it!), don't worry, there's no need to know its plot in order to understand what's going on.

“Here trained some of our greatest Knights and Masters, such as Master Vrook, Master Lamar and Bastila Shan, and also more controversial figures, such as Meetra Surik, the Exile, and her acolytes who rebuilt the Order after the Purge.” Obi-Wan paused dramatically, staring at the twirling lights of hyperspace outside the viewport with unfocused eyes, his green-blue irises obliquely lit by the artificial light of the Twilight’s cockpit. “But the Enclave also fostered many of our greatest foes: it was here that Exar Kun, Revan and Darth Malak, who were once Jedi Knights, moved their first steps down the path of the Dark Side. When Revan-”

“For Force’s sake, Obi-Wan!”, Anakin groaned, letting his hands fall on the abused instrument panel and shattering the suspense his Master was trying to create. “We are supposed to be going into meditational retreat, not to a Galactic History conference.”

Ahsoka smirked; the three boys that stood beside her, cramping the already clustered cockpit, were trying to stifle their giggles. The fact that Anakin was no history enthusiast came as a surprise to no one, but, to be fair, even she had to admit that Obi-Wan was being a little over-zealous with his lecture on Dantooinian history.

“It’s interesting!”, Caleb protested even as his lips twitched in amusement; the complaint made his friends roll their eyes. Everyone in the Temple under the age of eighteen knew about Caleb Dume’s infamous curiosity.

“I thought it would do all of you good to have a little context”, Obi-Wan retorted to his former Padawan, crossing his arms on his chest. “Dantooine was the stage on which played out some of the most iconic moments in the history of our Order.”

“ _A little_   _context_ , yes", Anakin quipped. " _Two full hours_ of non-stop lecture, definitely  _not_.” He snorted, cracking the knuckles of his one flesh hand. “I’m getting a headache, Obi-Wan, and that’s no good since I still have to land this ship.”

“I can fly the ship if you don’t feel well!”, Caleb eagerly volunteered, all teenage brashness, and leant over towards the pilot chair. The sour look Anakin gave him made the poor boy shrink and step back in such a haste he trod on Ahsoka’s feet. “Or… maybe not”, he rectified in a tiny voice.

“No one save me flies the Twilight, kid”, Anakin said in an unnecessarily haughty tone.

“I’m no kid!”, Caleb growled under his breath as he threw himself back on his chair, a distinctive pout etched upon his face.

Ahsoka frowned. She had thought that Anakin had started coming to terms with the idea of Caleb being Obi-Wan’s new Padawan, but apparently the respite from his awful moodiness had been a brief one. She turned towards the boy, overdramatically rolling her eyes and shaking her head in the direction of her Master.

“ _It’s not you. Let him stew in his mood_ ”, she mouthed, managing to make him crack a thin smile.

In the meantime, Obi-Wan was glaring at his former apprentice, who was patently pretending not to see.

“Anakin”, he groaned at last.

“What?”, Anakin retorted in his usual  _I’ll-never-admit-I’m-wrong_  defensive tone, “I’m not letting the kid fly the ship. What’s the problem with that?” He turned around and, in seeing Obi-Wan’s disbelieving smirk reflected on Ahsoka’s face as well, he had at least the decency to blush. "Hey, normal people don't even have a piloting licence at his age!"

"Anakin. You were podracing at  _nine_ ", said Obi-Wan, exasperated.

“That's why I'll fly it. I’m supposed to be the best pilot here, headache or not."

“Oh, yes. That.” Obi-Wan tapped his fingers on the plasteel console, a gesture they all knew perfectly well to unnerve his former apprentice. “Do I need remind you that your impressive record of crashes forced the Order to pay a triple insurance fee to CoruRent to convince them to still give you their ships?”

“It’s not my fault people always try to blow me out of the sky!”

“Perhaps, if you were a  _better_ pilot, they wouldn’t succeed at this alarming rate.”

“Very funny. I’ll remember this next time you go all  _Anakin I need your help_ during a space battle.”

Ahsoka had to stifle a snort and even Obi-Wan couldn’t help pulling a face at how good Anakin’s imitation of his crisp Core accent was becoming, but the man resumed his deadpan expression in a heartbeat.

“Why, you would lose a chance to prove me wrong, and we all know how much you’d hate that.”

Anakin groaned in frustration, throwing his head back on the seat headrest. “You’re impossible, Obi-Wan.”

“By now you should know better than to engage in verbal spars with the Negotiator, Master”, Ahsoka noted placidly. Anakin gave her a withering look and turned his focus back on making atmospheric descent, while Obi-Wan smiled smugly, his arms and legs crossed in a swaggering attitude. The boys, for their part, were clearly baffled, and Ahsoka couldn’t blame them. At thirteen, she had been – well, there was no other word to say it –  _snappy_ , decidedly snappier than the average junior Padawan. The three boys, save perhaps Caleb, were more quiet than she’d ever been, and for them to see this more private and less formal side of the most celebrated HoloNet heroes must have been quite startling.

Anyway, apparently Anakin had achieved his goal, for no one spoke until the moment they left hyperspace and Dantooine’s greenish globe materialized behind the viewport; with confident ease, Anakin sent the ship in quick descent towards the planet’s gravity well.

Obi-Wan was the one to break the silence. “I know you once came by with Barriss, Ahsoka, but I assume you didn’t land.”

Ahsoka shivered at the memory; after almost twenty years, just remembering the geonosian brain-controlling worms made her sick. “No, we only docked at the medical facility in orbit.”

“Another pretty mission, that one”, Anakin said as he left the steer for a brief instant to punch the repulsorlift controls, prepping the ship for landing.

“Oh. I remember”, Obi-Wan murmured.

“Have you already been here, Master?”, Caleb enquired from behind.

Obi-Wan smiled. “I have. This is my second meditational retreat in the New Enclave. The first time I came here was with my Master Qui-Gon Jinn. I was twenty-one at the time and we were just off an extended mission. We needed – I needed – some time to recover from the ordeal.”

Ahsoka frowned slightly. There seemed to be a faint gloomy undertone in the Master’s voice, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint the kind of feeling that could cause it; the man’s eyes had lost focus for a second, staring at some long-forgotten reverie, but the moment passed as soon as it had come. She glanced at Anakin, who seemed to have a knowing look on his face, but neither of the men were looking at the other. She shrugged. Whatever that was it was none of her business; after all, it was very unlikely that a mission carried out fifteen years before could have any bearing to their current predicament.

“Was it helpful?”, O-Mer was asking, his senses not quite as refined yet as to let him sense the subtle undercurrents of emotion rippling the Force.

“Most helpful. The place is wonderful and I made some good friends”, Obi-Wan replied gently. “I am sure we will all find here the respite we need once again.”

 

* * *

 

Anakin managed to perform a by-the-book landing – “See? No one was trying to shoot me down this time” "And to think I believed you to be one to crave adventure, my friend"  – and soon they were all breathing the cool air of a late summer evening, the sweet flowery scent so strong it managed to prevail even upon the oily smells of the hangar. Even Anakin, for once, seemed eager to leave the ship behind and wander among the grasslands.

At the end of the small hangar bay a figure clad in Jedi robes but sporting no lightsaber was waiting for them, his legs slightly apart and his hands folded in the opposite sleeves of his hooded cape. Obi-Wan strode towards him, gesturing his companions to follow him.

Their host, he saw as he approached, was a Zabrak male in his early thirties, a little taller than Obi-Wan and of similar built, but lacking his own muscular frame. His skin was so tan it shone as bronze, and his face, thin and bony, sported an intricate pattern of spiraling tattoos in a slightly lighter tone of brown. An array of six small horns protruded from among his chestnut hair, prematurely greying at the temples and tied back in a low tail.

“Brothers in the Light”, he greeted them, bowing his head; the way he spoke in his baritone voice was so elegant it made even Obi-Wan’s smooth Core accent sound rustic. “On behalf of our small enclave, I welcome you to Dantooine. I hope you travelled well.”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, a spark of remembrance rekindling his memory.

“Eran? Is that you?”, he asked at last, feeling a pleased grin spreading on his face.

The Zabrak beamed at him in surprise.

“I did not hope you would remember me, Master Kenobi. It has been a long time.”

“It has indeed”, Obi-Wan agreed. “How are you?”, he enquired, covering the distance between them with a swift stride and pulling the other Jedi in a fond hug. “And it’s still Obi-Wan to you, my old friend. I never thought I would find you here again.”

The Zabrak was still smiling as they pulled apart. “I have grown to love this place, Obi-Wan. When the war started, the former Warden, Master Ien – you surely remember him – would not remain here." Obi-Wan nodded mournfully. The old master had died the year before, fighting bravely in the skies above Saleucami. "After he left for war, Jocasta lobbied the Council into assigning me to the Enclave indefinitely.”

Obi-Wan smirked. He hadn't known; when Master Ien had volunteered, Obi-Wan had already been deployed, and the Council wouldn't have called a plenary session for such a trivial matter. “As sneaky as ever.” He turned towards his companions. “Anakin, Padawans, may I introduce you to – are you a Knight or a Master already?”

“It is forbidden to train Padawans outside of Coruscant”, Eran reminded him. “I am a Knight.”

“All right then, may I introduce you to Knight Eran Losai? Eran, this is Anakin Skywalter, my former apprentice, and his Padawan Ahsoka Tano – yes, there’s no need to pull a face, Padawan or not you’re not getting any younger either – the boy here is Caleb Dume, my new Padawan, and these are Initiates Jinx Tarj and O-Mer Kalit.”

“I am very pleased to meet you all”, Eran said, taking in the group; Obi-Wan noticed how his eyes lingered a little longer than necessary over Anakin. Uneasy, he turned to smile at the youngest boys.

“If I bored you with my impromptu lecture about Dantooine’s history, it’s Knight Losai you have to blame”, Obi-Wan jested. “He was the most promising young historian of our Order when I met him – how long ago was that?”

“Fifteen years ago, I’m afraid”, Eran answered, dismissing the compliment with an uncommitted wave of his hand. He then gestured the small assembly to follow him towards a family-speeder parked outside the hangar and resumed the conversation. “I am humbled by your praise – always speaking in hyperboles, I see – but I feel compelled to draw you out of your delusion. I’m no historian. One could say I fell to the Dark Side.” He grinned. “You see, I became an archaeologist.”

A chorus of enthusiastic  _whoa_ erupted from the boys and even Anakin smiled appreciatively.

“An archaeologist? You?” Obi-Wan blinked. “What did you do to the anemic, heliophobic holopadworm I remember? Did you bury his body in some ancient tomb?”

Eran laughed heartily. “At some point in his life, the heliophobic holopadworm decided to crawl out of his hole and discovered that there was knowledge to be found even under the sun. Now get in so we can reach the enclave. I believe you still pretend you hate piloting, Kenobi?”

“I never  _pretended_ ”, Obi-Wan protested primly. “And I do hate flying, now more than ever. You have no idea what kind of reckless pilot Anakin here is. It’s a miracle we are both still alive.”

“Skywalker, eh?”, Eran said, sliding into the pilot seat while regarding Anakin with undisguised interest. “I’ve heard plenty about you.”

Anakin shrugged uncomfortably. “Half of that poodoo is made up”, he said.

“Yeah, the tales in which he actually lands a ship are usually made up”, Ahsoka quipped.

“Force, what’s it today with my piloting?”, Anakin groaned.

Eran and Obi-Wan laughed. “Perhaps you are right”, the Zabrak said, serious once again. “Still, even if only half of that is true, it is still enough to make for an interesting tale. I won’t deny I was looking forward to meeting you.” Apparently seeing the younger Jedi’s discomfort, Eran swiftly changed the subject, turning towards the boys in the rear seats. “Today it’s too late so we’ll just have dinner and then go to bed, but how about tomorrow we go see our excavations? We’re digging in joint mission with the Ryloth Archaeological School in the Jedi Enclave of the Old Sith Wars. I’ll ask my colleague, doctor Dur’Lan, to give you a tour of the site.”

The proposal elicited a crescendo of yelps and cheers from the young Jedi and the rest of the trip was spent in excited organization of tomorrow’s trip, while Obi-Wan was left to stew over that strange looks Eran had given Anakin.

 

* * *

 

A gentle breeze was singing among the tall grasslands of Dantooine, lifting the fallen leaves of the planet’s perpetual late summer in twirling spirals of gold around the floating hems of the Jedi’s robes. The only ones who were clearly not enjoying the cool gushes of wind were the ten archaeologists – seven Twi’lek, a Zeltron male, a Rishii and a Kiffar female – and the two Verpine technicians at work.

The assistant director of the excavation, Eran’s colleague Dur’Lan, was a Twi’lek female in her late twenties with pale orange skin and smug lavender eyes, dressed with plain cargo pants and a short-sleeved shirt in different shades of dirt brown; her friendly voice sported a very distinctive Ryl accent and her grin was contagious. She had been guiding the Jedi around the dig site, pointing out the major discoveries of the ongoing excavation season with that kind of enthusiasm only a burning passion for one’s work could generate.

“Do you see the post-holes? – over there, Caleb, dear, near that hoverbarrow – yeah, those. We dug them a week ago; we think they are the remnants of one of the scavenger camps put up after the bombing; we found a few fragments of Jedi artifacts in a dumping hole – there was also some serious poodoo down there, don’t make me think about it. You know, historical sources say those scavenger scum gave a few problems to the locals until the Jedi Exile came and kicked them out.”

“Whoa! Did you find any treasure?”, Jinx enquired enthusiastically.

Dur’Lan smiled, amused, and shook her head. “Oh no, no riches, scavengers snatched it all long ago”, she replied, eliciting a miserable moan from the boy. “But you see, dear, archaeology is not about finding treasures. The big deal here is information”, she said in a conspiratorial voice, crouching on the ground so that her face was at level with the boy’s.

“So what kind of artifacts have you found?”, Obi-Wan asked. He was crouched on the ground as well, balancing his weight with his right hand on the hoverbarrow as he tried to peer under the debris of a collapsed roof. Behind him, Anakin was intently studying the advanced heuristic processor of a momentarily out-of-commission excavator droid.

“Bits and scraps from lightsabers, Master”, she replied. “Eran, honey, this technical stuff is all yours”, she called her colleague, the endearment eliciting a cocked eyebrow from both Kenobi and Skywalker.

The Jedi, apparently, didn’t mind her nicknaming him thus and favored her with a smile so warm it made Obi-Wan shift uncomfortably. “As you wish, Dur. Obi-Wan, Skywalker, I suppose you are both familiar with the holoschematics for lightsabers dating back from before the Mandalorian Wars; the fragments we found here were quite different from what we expected basing on that data.” He summoned a scorched and twisted fragment of metal from a nearby crate and showed it to the Jedi; even Anakin left his droid to come and look at it.

“It’s a power cell”, Jinx said. The boy had followed the explanation of the site wide-eyed, always asking Eran for further information. Obi-Wan was quite sure that his old friend was going to reconsider the possibility of returning from time to time to Coruscant in order to train a Padawan. O-Mer, on the other side, was more enticed by the various species of insects crawling among the dirt on the dig site. Obi-Wan remembered that the boy had already been considering joining the AgriCorps; reminding his own past, he couldn’t fail to appreciate the irony.

“Very good, Initiate”, Eran said approvingly, regarding the boy with a warm smile. “It is an diatium cell enhanced with an incorporated discharge cell, of a sort unknown from the holorecords. It seems that here on Dantooine there was an experimental school of lightsaber building.” He tossed back the fragment in the crate, summoning a few others to show his audience. “Some of the models show an impressive hybridization with non-Jedi technology. For example, these two focusing lenses were stabilized using a mixture of Force techniques and Dathomirian magic. Our Verpine experts are studying the technology involved, while I’m dealing with the Force manipulation. We hope to publish our results next year.”

Jinx was staring at the components in hardly-concealed awe. “You can understand all this from these small pieces?”, he whispered.

“It is impressive indeed”, Obi-Wan commented, stroking his chin. “Although I wonder what kind of Jedi would want a lightsaber imbued with Dark Side energy.”

“Our ancestors seemed to have a somewhat different view of the Force. I wouldn’t dismiss the possibility that those components were crafted during the Mandalorian Wars.”

“When the boundaries between Darkness and Light were somewhat blurred”, Obi-Wan observed drily.

“Much like it is now, I would say”, said Eran.

Anakin glared. “Trust me, no Jedi has a lightsaber powered by Dark Magic.”

Eran nodded, but the skeptical look on his face spoke volumes. “Of course not. Darkness is far more subtle, nowadays.” He crafted his face in a grin. “But I will not ruin Dur’s excursion with such troubled thoughts. We will have time to talk politics tonight in front of a pint of Tarisian Ale.”

Dur’Lan, who had been looking back and forth between the three Jedi in unease, mouthed a  _thank you –_ followed by a gesture of her lips that a mystified Obi-Wan could only describe as a kiss – and gestured the boys to follow her towards the sector of the excavation focusing on the remains of the Enclave building.

“So, you see”, she said, resuming her guided tour, “that’s the east wing of the Enclave. We’ve removed the destruction layers and all the debris. Scavengers had already plundered everything, their pits have solemnly kriffed all our stratigraphy – oh, sorry Er, forgot ‘bout the kids – but we found some intact areas. Here’s the archives reading room, over there – our restaurateurs are working on the frescoes fragments we found –, over there’s a small refectory, and then, on the left, behind that huge awful pillar, we’re clearing two private quarters. Another team from Corellia University is working a few kilometers south on a small village destroyed by our charming Darth Malak with the Enclave. We are trying to understand the material culture of the settlers and that of the Jedi and to draw a comparison, to understand how they interacted.”

O-Mer frowned. “How can you do so?”

Eran and Dur’Lan exchanged an amused look. “Well… in this specific case, by cheating”, she replied impishly. “My student Leryan – the Kiffar girl over there –”

“Psychometry”, Obi-Wan snorted, shaking his head. Anakin barked out a laugh.

“Well, yes”, Dur’Lan admitted ruefully. “She’s a brilliant scholar, mind you, but also  _extremely_  useful. We’ve been able to establish that many of the oldest findings, those dating from at least two centuries before the Mandalorian Wars, were used by non-Jedi as well. We also have other sources – take my word for it – and we are starting to understand that there was much more interaction between the Jedi and the locals. Most of those things are of no value… gifts, given by the locals to the Jedi who helped them, but also traded goods. The enclave really seemed to be part of the local community.”

“The most interesting thing, though”, Eran added, exchanging a warm smile with the Twi’Lek young woman, “is that I noticed a correlation between the drop in this kind of findings and the increase in Force-related ones. Especially intricate lightsaber parts.”

“What are you implying?”, Obi-Wan inquired.

Eran scratched his left forehead horn, thinking. “It is treacherous to infer cultural changes from variations in material culture, Obi, but one might be tempted to say that, at some point, the Jedi started to shut themselves out from the surrounding world… And that may explain to a degree what we know from the written record about the mistrust of the locals towards the Jedi by the time of Revan and the Exile. For large parts of the public opinion, by then, there was no much difference between Jedi and Sith… both were cultists of a distant sect normal people couldn’t understand… And after Exar Kun and Revan and Malak, can you blame them? Of course, to endorse this claim, we would need to widen our research and see if a similar pattern exists in the other Enclaves as well.”

“You are trying to draw a parallel with today’s world”, Ahsoka noted.

“Yes and no”, Eran slowly said, frowning slightly, as if carefully pondering his answer. “When studying the past, one must do so for the sake of understanding. You cannot look at the past with the present in your eyes, or your reconstruction will be distorted. Focus must always be in the specific moment.” He paused, and his frown intensified. “Still, you can do the other way around. Carefully, wisely, but you can try to filter your present through the lenses of the past. Observe the patterns. Learn from the mistakes. Strive for improvement. Unravel the present to find all the threads of history which created the final design, but always remember that no two events happen the same way.”

Obi-Wan felt as if all air had been drained from her lungs. Could it be a coincidence, this talk of future and past? Or was it the will of the Force? One sideways glance at Ahsoka told him that she was as dumbstruck as he was.

“And what does this tell you about our present, Eran?”

“That the Jedi are so afraid of the future that they have disregarded understanding how we got to this present.”

Uneasy silence followed his words. After a few seconds, a frowning Dur’Lan took her colleague’s hand in hers, and said: “How ‘bout we ate something?”

With a collective nod, the group followed her to the dining area behind the excavation warehouse.

 

* * *

 

“’is food’s…  _wow_ ”, Caleb muttered, his mouth full of half-munched fungi. “What’s this?”, he asked after a huge swallow.

“Gruuvan  _shaal_  and munch-fungus salad”, Dur’Lan said, smirking. “Traditional rylothian dishes.”

“I  _love_ it!”, the boy emphatically declared as he helped himself a generous second plate. Ahsoka had to suppress a knowing chuckle.

“You should go visit Ryloth when the war is over”, she couldn’t refrain from saying. “They have loads of delicious food… and the planet has  _many_  beauties.” A pity no one else could understand the implications… But perhaps it was best Obi-Wan couldn’t realize she was trying to play matchmaker across the space-time continuum.

“How would you know? We didn’t even  _land_ on Ryloth”, Anakin objected.

“Full marks in Galactic Geography, Master”, she smugly replied, hiding her grin behind a glass of feen juice.

“Oh.”

“You fought on Ryloth, didn’t you?”, Dur’Lan asked somberly, serving herself a glass of ale.

“We did”, Obi-Wan replied. “Anakin and Ahsoka led the air-strike. I was on the ground with Master Windu. Were you there when the invasion happened?” he asked.

“No”, she whispered. “I was here. I tried to go back, but blockade was already in place… I lost a sister.” She bit her lips.

Obi-Wan bowed his head in acknowledgement; Eran was sympathetically squeezing the girl’s forearm.

“I’m so sorry”, he said.

“Don’t be. You liberated the planet in time to free my brother. I will always be grateful for that.”

For a few minutes no one spoke. Ahsoka wondered, not for the first time since her return to the past, why hadn’t the Force done something to push her even further back, to avoid the war and all this pain from ever taking place. As always, the Force remained silent, a slight whisper of light the only confirmation of the rightness of her actions.

“How long have you been excavating here?”, Obi-Wan enquired, breaking the gloomy silence.

“I started five years ago”, Eran said. “Dur joined me after less than two years.”

“How come a civilian started working with a Jedi?”, Anakin asked.

Eran laughed heartily and cast his colleague a mischievous look. “It’s a long story”, he said.

“Oh, well”, Dur’Lan blurted, her cheeks a faint pink and a ghost of a smile now back on her lips, “Do you remember  _Gone with the Force_?”

Obi-Wan blinked, his lips curling in an amused smile. “And how could I forget?”

Less than twenty years before the whole galaxy had gone nuts over that massive holodrama, particularly memorable for the over-the-top fake lightsaber duels and the sappy romance. The subject had been nothing less than the story of the fall and subsequent redemption of the legendary Darth Revan, filmed with a budget that could have sustained Tatooine’s entire population for a few years.

Half of the teenagers’ rooms in the galaxy had been filled with posters of Canderous Ordo or of the fabled Ebon Hawk, while the other half resounded with the sobs and tears spilled over the star-crossed lovers Revan and Bastila Shan.

Obi-Wan had been eighteen years old at the time, and he would never forget all the mess it had stirred among the Jedi – nor the exquisite woman cast as Padawan Shan, even if he’d sooner die than admit it. Everyone in the Order still remembered the public discontent when the Council had refused to give the troupe real lightsabers or to open the Sith temple on Korriban for the shooting. Moreover, the Council had strongly discouraged the Jedi from watching what they had called a  _misguided mystification of one of the darkest days in our history_ , thus ensuring that everyone, from the elder Masters to the children in the crèche, would want to get their hands on the holo. Padawan rumor held it that Ki-Adi-Mundi had been so hooked on his personal holoprojector in the then vacant Council Room that he hadn’t noticed Yoda coming in and glaring at him for a good minute.

Obi-Wan himself had watched the forbidden drama in a secluded training dojo with most of his classmates. The most tragic moment had been when Revan had tried to turned back from the Dark Side his fallen lover on Rakata Prime only to be elegantly spurned by her infamous reply  _“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn”_  – Garen Muln had almost choked to death, while Reeft had been unashamedly wiping his tears. Siri Tachi, on her part, had bluntly called her “a Sith-spawn bitch”; no one had dared accuse her of being biased.

Obi-Wan himself and Quinlan Vos had re-enacted the scene of that fight in the dojo for almost two years, with Quinlan tossing his dreadlocks all over his friend’s face in a far too accurate imitation of the stunning actress.

“The whole Temple has been in uproar for a year”, he added, his eyes sparkling with fond memories.

Dur’Lan smirked. “Oh, no doubts ‘bout that. Well, I was twelve and so in love with Revan. I wanted to be a Jedi… I tried contacting the Temple.”

Anakin gaped at her. “You did  _what_?”

“I asked the Jedi to take me in. I was  _twelve_ , remember. I wasn’t the only one, anyway. Oh, I grew out of that, but I never stopped being fascinated by your Order. I graduated in Archaeology and took a PhD in Force Users Studies. I wanted to discover the truth behind the myth, and, well, it was even better! When I discovered about a Temple-funded project here on Dantooine I contacted the Order to propose a cooperation, and so here I am”, she said, glancing at her companion.

Eran was shaking his head, his eyes warmed by fondness. “You see what kind of a colleague I’m stuck with. She is mad.” He sighed. “She even has a lightsaber tattooed on her ankle.”

Dur’Lan blushed. “You could’ve left  _that_  out, Er! I was sixteen.”

“You would do it even now.”

“I wouldn’t”, she stated bluntly, then grinned wickedly. “Now I would have it tattooed on my spine. Much more badass.”

“Force forgive me”, Eran sighed, rolling his eyes.

Ahsoka couldn’t help noticing the how enticed Anakin was in watching their interaction, and how deep was Obi-Wan’s frown; she was sorely tempted to laugh at his face. Perhaps, she thought, Eran was right and the Order had really been secluded on Coruscant for too long, letting the Jedi become, in the eyes of the real world, nothing more than otherworldly material for holomovies and, later, frightening generals with a mysterious agenda… And oh, how shrewdly the Sith had taken advantage of it all. Perhaps it was, after all, too late to save the Order. The moment that thought surfaced in her mind, she lost all appetite. Luckily, her younger companions were more than obliging in finishing the food she had left.

 

* * *

 

Still exhausted after a prolonged sparring session with Caleb – but at least no longer sweaty, courtesy of the cool waters of the Khoonda river – Obi-Wan was lying sprawled across the warm grass, letting the gentle breeze dry his damp hair and caress his face, and hoping it would suffice to blow all his worries away. It would have been a blessedly peaceful spot, weren’t it for Caleb and the two Younglings loudly playing in the water; it was almost hard to believe that the only noises he heard were those of splashes and laughter instead of those of bolts and screams.

He had really needed a time away from the frontline, he thought, and even more so had the children. Caleb had been lucky, all considered, but both O-Mer and Jinx had been prisoners for months. They needed to be children again, even if for a brief time. It was just unfortunate that this respite had come, for him, right after Ahsoka’s revelations: try as he might, he couldn’t ward off the creeping horror that still clawed at his heart as an aftermath, and the morning trip to the dig site had done nothing to lessen his worry.

Warily, he turned his head towards where Ahsoka was slowly performing her Jar’Kai  _katas_ , her slender figure a gracious stain of color on the ubiquitous golden grass. He found himself once again admiring her focused calm, the smooth flow of the Force around her, the grace with which she executed each steps, her silver blades tracing an embroidery of elegant power against the blue sky.

He exhaled. Notwithstanding what she had went through, she had been able to remain centered in the Force, pursuing with single-minded purpose her goal. He tried to tell himself that in time, as she had, he would be able to regain his calm as well.

The muffled sound of approaching footsteps – perhaps Anakin coming back from his jog – made him swallow in anticipation, but when he saw it was Eran he greeted him with a good-hearted smile; the Zabrak Jedi waved at the children and sat on the grass next to his old friend, observing Ahsoka intensely.

“She is very good for someone so young”, he noted.

The man was disturbingly perceptive. “She is indeed. We are very proud of her.”

“Where the two of you find the time for training in all of this is beyond me, Kenobi”, he said, shaking his head. “Are you glad to be back on Dantooine?”

“More than I could ever express with words, Eran, and I am glad to have met you again. I have to admit, I never realized how much I needed a respite from the war. This conflict is draining us.”

Eran’s golden face darkened and his eyes lost focus for a few seconds.

“Do you still think it was right for the Jedi to enter the war?”, he asked bluntly, his baritone voice low and clear; it reminded Obi-Wan of Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan took his time to ponder the answer; before Ahsoka’s revelation had forced him to reconsider everything once again, he had spent far too many nights mulling over his own feelings on the matter, trying to understand what he really thought. It had even worsened after meeting Satine again.

“I do”, he said at last, stroking his beard with his calloused hand, made even rougher by three years spent holding his lightsaber even as he slept. “I deeply regret the fact that the war was started by a Republic invasion meant to rescue  _me_ , but it would have come to war anyway. The Separatists would never have settled for mere independence, the sheer magnitude of their army is a blatant testament to this. Dooku and his minions would still have invaded strategically important planets to conquer plants and resources and secure their control over the main hyperspace lanes. It was only a matter of time, Eran. Mind me, I know that many planets that chose to join them wished for a diplomatic resolution, but their voices are constantly being silenced, just as those in the Senate who would wish for negotiations to resume. Peace has never been really an option.”

Eran nodded thoughtfully. “I know. Those who blame the war on the Order are either misinformed or frauds. War would have come to the Republic either way. What I do question is the role of the Jedi in this conflict.”

Obi-Wan sighed warily. “We are protectors, Eran. With all its flaws, the Republic has prevented a great many conflicts in the last millennium.”

“Except the conflicts of no political or economic consequence”, was the sarcastic retort.

“You are worse than Satine”, Obi-Wan mused. He and Eran had met right after Mandalore, when the Zabrak was starting his researches on the Old Enclave, and the newly made friend had become Obi-Wan’s confidant for the month they had spent together.

Eran laughed mirthlessly. “I always told you she was smarter than you. Protectors, Obi-Wan? Pray tell me, what have you ever done to protect the slaves in Hutt Space? To stop the Zygerrian? To uproot criminality in Nar Shaddaa? The gangs in Coruscant? And I won’t even mention all the planets crushed under the heels of all your gaudy, greedy senators.”

“We can’t save everyone”, Obi-Wan retorted, his eyes flashing dangerously. Every day of his life he had felt the burning scar of shame for the billions of lives they could not save. “We don’t have the numbers, and we don’t have the power. We still have to abide to Republic laws. We cannot overstep the Senate. We try to do what we can, as best as we can. What are you trying to get to? That since we cannot do everything we should not even do what little we can?”

“I’m trying to get to the point that, commendable as your devotion to your cause may be, this is  _not_  what the Jedi are about.”

“You are speaking as if you weren’t even part of the Order, Eran”, Obi-Wan stated roughly.

“Kenobi, spare me your sophistries. I  _am_ part of the Order, and this is the reason why I am so worried about it. This kind of evil, the petty, greedy evil, is not for the Jedi to uproot. We have the PSFs and the Judicials for that. Of course”, he added, lowering his voice, “it’s only right for you to help where you can, but our true mandate is to protect the Galaxy from ourselves, Obi-Wan. From those of us Force Wielders who have chosen the Dark Side. That’s the only real thing no one else can do anything about except the Jedi. And we have forgotten it, we have forgotten our mandate so thoroughly that there are many of us who thinks that the Sith are only a myth; you’ve spent the last centuries hopping to and fro, running after Hutts and spice dealers while the Judicials grew complacent and corrupted and-”.

Eran bit his lips and stopped speaking, glancing at Obi-Wan meaningfully, and turned his head away. Obi-Wan followed his gaze and saw Ahsoka standing behind him, her exercise presumably abandoned when she’d heard their heated voices. He could see on her face that she had caught most of what they had said.

“Ahsoka. Come sit with us”, Obi-Wan invited her. “You can speak, Eran. She knows everything”, he said evasively.

Eran nodded, looking at Ahsoka appraisingly. “The Dathomirian you killed on Naboo… was he really a Sith?”, he brusquely asked, turning back to his old friend. The sharp intake of breath coming from Ahsoka distracted Obi-Wan rom the sudden pain caused by the reminder of his long-dead enemy and the death he had wrought. Both men looked at her, puzzled. She was pale and looked as if she was going to be sick.

“Are you all right, Ahsoka?”, Obi-Wan enquired, worried.

She blinked. “Oh, yes, Master. Sorry. I pulled my foreleg in training. Got a cramp as I sat down.”

“Do you need me to heal you?”

“No, no, don’t worry”, she replied hurriedly. “I’ll just lie down for a minute.”

Obi-Wan nodded, partially unconvinced but wise enough not to ask. He had decided to let Ahsoka keep her secrets, and anyway was somehow sure that, even if he tried to ask, she would never tell him what she had decided not to. She was, if possible, even more headstrong than she had been as a teenager.

“Dathomirian?”, he asked Eran, turning back to the conversation. “I always thought Maul was from Iridonia.”

The Zabrak shook his head. “No. I saw a holopicture of him. He was marked as a Nightbrother.”

“I never knew.” Obi-Wan frowned. What little he knew of the Nightclans made him almost pity his Master’s murderer. “Why do you ask?”

Eran twitched nervously at the hem of his robes. “Actually, there is some underground debate about wether he was actually a Sith or not.”

Obi-Wan stiffened, the sudden flare of anger repressed and let go into the Force – albeit not completely. “Oh, is there? And pray, what kind of Force wielder but a Sith could be able to strike Qui-Gon Jinn down? Do you think a crazed Nightbrother would have been strong or skilled enough?”, he snapped. The anger, he could let go. That old grief, though… he had never really been able to.

“I’m not saying I’m one of those who think he wasn’t”, Eran amended swiftly. “I’ve delved too much into ancient history to lull myself into believing the Sith were actually extinct. But remember… You were in Yoda’s lineage and now you are a Councilor. The majority of the Order knows nothing of what goes on behind the Council’s closed doors.”

Obi-Wan lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to snap at you”, he apologized. “You know, Darth Maul is not someone I remember with fondness. He  _was_  Sith, Eran. Definitely Sith. Not only in name but in the Force. I never felt anything quite like him. I have a, well, let’s call it  _acquaintance,_ with a Dark Side assassin. A kind of acquaintance that entails lots of saberplay, I am afraid”, he added with an ironic twist of his mouth in response to his friend’s enquiring stare. “She is nothing like he was, and neither is Dooku. Maul had been trained as a Sith since infancy. There was something…  _arcane_ about him. He seemed to come from a tale of the Old Republic.”

The playful yells of the boys frolicking in the river seemed muffled now, hidden behind a curtain of darkness. “I hoped Dooku had only turned from the Jedi regarding politics”, Eran whispered. “I didn’t want to believe him to have become Sith.”

Obi-Wan nodded sadly. “I’m afraid he has. In a very different way, but he has. That is why we had to fight, Eran. Like you said, the Galaxy has no weapons to fight the Sith on its own. It is our mandate to oppose their evil.”

The Zabrak took his face in his hands, shaking his head in disbelief. “You don’t see it, don’t you?”, he growled, clutching his frontal horns. “It’s the Mandalorian Wars all over again.”

“Eran, this is an obsession”, Obi-Wan said, rolling his eyes. “I thought you’d eventually grow out of it, but I’m afraid your beautiful friend worsened the situation.”

Eran snorted. “Oh, she did, and for that I’m glad. Listen for a moment, Obi-Wan… a war the Jedi cannot refuse to enter… used to lure them into a conflict that will weaken them enough for the Sith to take over! Doesn’t this sound familiar enough to you?”

“The Sith did not fight the Mandalorian Wars, Eran, and the Republic had his own army to defend itself! Revan was a  _product_ of the war, he became it the moment he decided to fight against the Council’s better judgment! Had he stayed behind…”

“Obi-Wan, to reason in terms of _what ifs_ and _should haves_ does no one any good. Everything seems clear in hindsight. You could also say that, had the Jedi chosen to participate in the war and back Revan, he might never have fallen to the Dark Side. But then he wouldn’t have discovered the existence of the Sith Empire, the Emperor might have conquered the Republic and we all would now be speaking Sith while meditating in the ancient tombs of Korriban.”

“What are you talking about?”, Obi-Wan asked, frowning deeply.

Eran bit his lower lip. “This… this is not a theory that finds many supporters among our Order”, he said at last. “Still, I believe it is the truth. I have some holocrons and a – ah,  _unusual_ – source to back it. It appears that the Sith Empire was behind the Mandalorian Wars. The Emperor wanted to weaken the Republic enough that it would surely fall once he attacked. Mandalore himself confessed he was persuaded into invading Republic Space.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows rose in acute skepticism.

“Then why didn’t the Emperor attack?”, Ahsoka asked.

Eran shifted in unease. “This is a very fringe theory, one I am myself not completely at ease with. Some say that, after Revan’s redemption, he was taken prisoner by the Emperor but managed to influence his mind long enough for him to postpone the attack, giving the Jedi Order enough time to regain its strength.”

Obi-Wan absently stroke his chin, his mind racing in thought. It would really take a leap of faith to believe what Eran was saying, but the events of the last days had at least persuaded him that there were a great many things the Jedi didn’t know.

“That may be so, but how does this mean that now, right now, the Jedi should have stood behind and let this war ravage the Galaxy even more than it already does?”

“Obi-Wan, if Dooku is really a Sith, the mere fact that he was standing alongside Poggle and Jango Fett – your clones’ template, no less – in that balcony in the Arena on Geonosis – yeah, I saw the footage, I know it was restricted – anyway, it can only mean that this war has been crafted by the Sith to weaken us just as the Mandalorian Wars were.”

Obi-Wan felt the blood draining from his face and felt Ahsoka stiffening beside him. “Have you ever told any of this to the Council?”, he asked, his voice hoarse.

Eran snorted. “You should know I never did, you are in the Council now, aren’t you? I know you will listen, but why would the rest of the Council listen to me?”, he asked, his voice coarser with every word. “To the eccentric archeologist who asked an academic leave to take a degree in archaeology like any next guy? The one who as a Padawan befriended Voss and Nightsisters to gain a better understanding of the facets of the Force? The one who asked – and was obviously denied – for a grant to start an excavation in the Sith Academy on Korriban?”

“And why would you ever want to dig on Korriban?”, Obi-Wan interrupted him, mildly horrified at the idea.

The Zabrak bared his teeth in a feral sneer. “Learn to know your enemy, Kenobi.” His voice was a ominous thrum deep in his throat. “There are things still buried under Korriban’s silent sands. Holocrons. Artifacts. Secrets.”

Obi-Wan shivered. “Some things are best left buried. Forgotten.”

“No!”, Eran cried, slamming his fist on the grass. “That’s why we lose! Obi-Wan, you are smarter than this. We have more to learn from the Sith than we have from the Jedi. The Sith have thrived under our nose undetected for a millennium, Obi, a  _kriffin’ millennium_! They have better knowledge of the Force than we do.”

“They twist it in unnatural ways, Eran! That’s no knowledge.”

“But they  _seek_ , Obi-Wan! They keep seeking new truths while we cling to the old ones, lazily convinced that we already have the knowledge we need… we are mummified, still thinking that the  _solution will present itself_ , while the Sith are crafting their own solution!”

“They seek  _evil_ , Eran!”, Obi-Wan almost yelled in dismay.

“Yes! They do! But what have we sought to stop them, Obi-Wan?”

“We seek to understand the will of the Force”, Obi-Wan replied staunchly.

“So _Jedi_ ”, Eran sighed helplessly. “There are voices, Obi-Wan. You can’t know this, being always at the front as you are, but among us scholars and mystics there are voices, voices about the Chosen One being found-”

Obi-Wan heard Ahsoka gasping. He swallowed.

“How do you know?”

“It’s one of the worst kept secrets of our Order, Obi-Wan, and that’s saying something… And you forget I was Jocasta’s Padawan. She was in charge of carrying out research about the prophecy when your Master brought Skywalker to the Temple. Yes, I know it may be him”, he added, rolling his eyes as if it were obvious. “A decent enough fellow, I like him, but it’s adamantine he has no idea of what his role in all of this is.” He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes, and breathed to regain his composure.

“But this is not the only voice, Obi-Wan. There are voices about old legends, ancient prophecies, Force gods, lost temples, doors to other worlds. This kind of knowledge is now spurned by our Order, pursued only by the shadiest and darkest of us, while all of you are wasting your lives at the frontline, always saying _this weapon is your life_ and forgetting that your only weapon, your only life is the Force! And in the meantime the Sith have become strong enough that two of them – two of them! – have been able to destroy the texture of the Force and plunge the whole Galaxy into war! And you dove head-first!” He paused, glaring furiously between his two shocked listeners. “What do they think, that the Chosen One will bring balance to the Force impaling the Sith on his lightsaber?”

“Knowing Anakin, that wouldn’t surprise me”, Obi-Wan said feebly.

Eran snorted. “Force save us, Obi-Wan, if he is truly the Chosen One, how can the Council keep using him as cannon fodder?”, he asked, urgency in his voice. “What do they think, that the Force is willing to throw another mythical warrior at us, should the one it has already provided get accidentally killed by a droid?”

Not even Obi-Wan tried to find a smart-mouthed retort. He was too caught up in his own guilt and conflicted thoughts to be able to rationalize what his friend had been saying.

Only three weeks ago, Obi-Wan would have thought that Eran was swinging dangerously close to the Dark Side. Right now, after Mortis and Ahsoka’s revelation, he was able to sense the deep truth in his words. The most painful thing of it all was that he himself had never given any of this a thought. Suddenly, he remembered Ahsoka’s boldness in front of the Council when she had defiantly told the revered Masters off for their blindness regarding the Prophecy and Anakin’s role in the war. He turned towards her and saw her staring with unfocused eyes at the golden horizon, sadness etched on her too young features. He was just going to tell her to go back to their housing and get some rest when she turned towards Eran.

“Where can we start to look for knowledge?”, she asked, her voice hard and her eyes burning. “I won’t shy away from anything that can help him.” Eran looked at her appraisingly.

“You are a bold one, Padawan. You do Skywalker honor, but what you are seeking is a knowledge that most would deem forbidden.”

“If there is knowledge to be found, I must find it, whatever it is.  _There is no ignorance_ , after all, and knowledge, just as peace and serenity and harmony, is not something easy to gain. I can’t remain ignorant because of my fear of what I may find.” She paused, and her gaze met Obi-Wan’s. “I am not afraid.”

Obi-Wan saw Eran looking at him, asking for his permission; notwithstanding his unorthodox views, the Zabrak was still a Jedi, and would never overstep the right of lineage giving heretic information to a Padawan that was not his. Obi-Wan sighed tiredly, and Eran nodded. Formally, Ahsoka wasn’t his Padawan either… but the truth was that Ahsoka was no one’s Padawan. “Go to the crystal cave at the southeast end of the Khoonda plains. You will find her there.”

“Who is she?”, Obi-Wan asked suspiciously.

“You will see”, was the enigmatic reply.

 

* * *

 

Later that night, Obi-Wan found Ahsoka in a secluded corner of the Enclave. She was meditating, and he stood still, silently watching her, not wanting to interrupt her focus.

“Master”, she greeted him after a few seconds. “I was in a light trance. Tell me, what is troubling you?”, she asked, her eyes still closed.

“This didn’t happen, didn’t it?”, he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“No.” She opened her clear blue eyes, and he saw they were red-rimmed. “It didn’t happen.”

“What do you think this means, Ahsoka?"

Ahsoka smiled. “I thought you already had the answer, Master.”

Obi-Wan regarded her with a quizzical frown.

“The will of the Force?”, she suggested.

He snorted. "You're worse than Anakin." He stroke his chin, deep in thought. “Why now? Why not then, when it mattered most? Before all those lives were lost?”

“I don't think it would have mattered, Master", she said. “We never understood, not even after Mortis. What would you have thought of Eran’s claims, had you never heard my tale? Last time, we dismissed Mortis as a collective vision. If not even Mortis was enough to make us understand how important Anakin’s destiny was, what would have?”

Obi-Wan dropped on a nearby bench. “I failed him so badly”, he whispered, taking his head in his hands. Ahsoka sat down beside him, squeezing his shoulder.

“How so, Master?”

“I never understood what Qui-Gon wanted from me", he said. "I never thought that is fate would be so important, so…different.”

“That is because you never saw him as a weapon, Master. You didn’t _forge_ him, you _raised_ him.”

“And how well did I do that, Ahsoka? What is there to boast about in having raised a man who could slaughter children?”

“No one has slaughtered no one yet”, Ahsoka hissed. “What he did was his choice, Obi-Wan, and you cannot blame yourself for another man’s choice.” She smiled as he put his hand on hers. “You can easily claim your share of blame, but no more than that. Please, do as Eran says. Don’t look at the past through the eyes of the present… And don’t look at the future through the eyes of the past. Focus on the blessing of each present moment, and grasp every chance we’ve got at making everything right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I created a tumblr blog, I will also post snippets of the upcoming chapters. You can find me at [The Dune Sea](https://livk-dunesea.tumblr.com)  
> As always, thank you for your precious support.


	13. The darkness within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: due to my lack of proofreading this chapter was a mess. I thank the wonderful **yulerule** for kindly pointing out my errors and helping me fix them :)  
>  This is our last immersion in the EU material (I've tried to explain as much as I could in the text so that even those of you who are not familiar with kotor can understand). From the next chapter, we'll be back to canon material.  
> I have to state that I don't like this chapter at all. It was one of the first I wrote and I wanted to keep it so badly that I made all the build up to it, but now I feel that these two chapters are, for the most part, more my own ramblings about the Force than a real part of the plot - and I partly blame it on the fact that I couldn't just start a story on Malachor without putting KOTOR in it. I beg your forgiveness and I hope you can find something you like anyway. As always, thank you for your support and, if some things are not clear, don't esitate to ask for explanations in the comments.

Dusk fell on Dantooine in hushed tones of purple which gave way, as the night wore on, to a gentle darkness lit by the opposite silver sickles of the planet’s twin moons.

Ahsoka was rejoicing in the peaceful view from the small balcony of her room, where she sat with her back propped against the wall as she peered through the mission reports she had downloaded from her secure access to the Temple network.

The fact that Anakin had been recalled to Naboo had made her realize that, even if her memories of the battles she had been in was still good, with the passing of the years the bigger picture had become blurred and she didn’t remember the precise order of many events. She needed to recreate a timeline to fit in past events and future plans; still, revising a part of her past in order to be ready to relive another one was, hands down, one of the most awkward things that she’d ever been through, and that was definitely saying something.

She had just finished reading about the crisis on Aleen – she remembered that, last time around, Plo Koon had sent Wolffe there, escorted by both R2-D2 and C-3P8, the latter of whom had provided a frankly ridiculous account of the mission. An unpleasant weigh settled in her gut when she read the headline of the subsequent file, regarding trouble in the Nebula Sector; she was starting to read the details when her distasteful perusal was interrupted by the knock at the door she had been waiting for.

She got to her feet, grabbed her cloak from her small bed and opened the door, finding Obi-Wan standing in the torch-lit corridor behind it. “Ahsoka.”

Under the dark hood he wore, Obi-Wan’s auburn beard shimmered like cooling embers in the dim penumbra, lit by the torches – real torches, burning with natural fire – hung at regular intervals in the long corridor of the Enclave. Eran had told them that the torches served as flaming memorial of the fiery power of Light when unleashed in the fight against Darkness. Ahsoka thought it was a good omen.

“Hello, Master. Are we ready?”

“As always.”

They fell into pace together, the hems of their cloaks silently sweeping the polished floor.

“Are you sure you want me to come with you?” Obi-Wan asked gently.

“I spent too many years missing your insight to pass up the opportunity to use it again.” Ahsoka smiled under her hood.

“I would by no measure rob you of the opportunity. Especially when you’re set on seeking out forbidden knowledge in a quest to save the universe”, he replied, with a mildly reproachful smile smoothened by the jesting tone of his voice. They had already been on that topic before dinner, when they had planned their escapade while both Anakin and Caleb where under the shower.

“Obi-Wan, trust me, I have learnt more about the Force after – well, _after_ – than during my apprenticeship. Mind you, I don’t blame this on the Order. You know as well as I do that I’ve had an – uh, _eventful_ apprenticeship.” She smiled at his snort. “I’m sure it was different, being a Padawan before the war. But there are so many thing that the Order doesn’t know about the Force. Take Mortis. Eran is right, we must seek deeper.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Still, this might be between you and the Force alone. I am not sure I should intervene.”

“As I see it, were you not supposed to intervene, Master, you wouldn’t have been on Mortis in the first place,” Ahsoka replied, smiling slyly to herself as she quoted back at an oblivious Obi-Wan a line he himself had delivered in her previous life. Overwhelming as it was, time-travel definitely had its funny moments. “Besides, I can’t just go and teach Anakin about his destiny as the savior of the Galaxy. I’m still the Padawan, remember?”

“The partnership is right when the student teaches the Master, Qui-Gon Jinn used to say.”

“Very wise, but in our situation I’d rather walk a more ordinary path. I’ll stand by his side and try to protect him from himself and from the Sith, but I can’t _lecture_ him. This is something between the two of you.”

A rueful smile. “You are quite the optimist, if you think Anakin listens to my lectures.”

Ahsoka chuckled softly. Honestly, there was nothing she could reply to that.

They had reached the main gate of the Enclave. With an understated gesture of his hand, Obi-Wan nudged it open just enough for them to pass through; the heavy portal hissed close behind them as they strolled eastwards through the tall grass, two silent shadows in a moonless night.

“Why do you set so much store by the prophecy, Ahsoka? From what you’ve told me, I wouldn’t say Anakin really fulfilled his purported destiny last time around.” Not even the training of a lifetime could hide the bitter note from Obi-Wan’s voice.

Ahsoka snorted. “Definitely not. But still… I don’t think I killed him on Malachor.” She sighed, fidgeting nervously with the hem of her hood. “I think his path was not over yet. You know, the Father told me that, in the end, he will always bring balance. Even if balance means the extinction of all life.”

Their simultaneous shudder sent a jolt of anguished ripples in the Force; a pair of briths, disturbed in their deep slumber by this sudden flare of emotion, left their sheltered nest and soared into the sky, wailing all their distress in mirroring spirals.

“You believe in the Prophecy because the Ones on Mortis did,” Obi-Wan said at last, his strong emotions rapidly subdued.

“How could I not? You have seen their powers. Their knowledge.”

“But why do you think this… _meeting_ has anything to do with the prophecy? There is nothing linking Dantooine with it. Some say the prophecy dates back to the First Great Schism, so at most it can be linked with Ossus.”

“You’re quite the scholar, Master.”

“I did my research when I took Anakin", he said ruefully.

“I’m not sure," Ahsoka replied at last. “But if he _is_ to destroy the Sith and to bring balance to the Force – his destiny and that of the Force seem to be linked. Whichever new bit of knowledge on the Force we may find can be of help. One could almost say that everything leads us back to the Prophecy. Perhaps I’m here to help Anakin fulfill it in a… more straightforward and less bloody way than last time around.”

Silence fell and the wailing of the briths was the only sound that accompanied them until, at last, they reached the gaping hole of the crystal cave’s entrance.

Without need to speak, the two hooded Jedi summoned their sabers’ hilts to their hands, lighting the dark recess in sapphire and silver.

“After you," Obi-Wan said, gesturing Ahsoka inside. She nodded, her montrals twitching in embarrassed pleasure under her hood. It was clear he was putting her in charge.

 

* * *

 

Thousands of light-years away a cloudy dawn was greeting the early risers of Coruscant. While she waited for her morning caff to be ready, Padmé found herself wondering idly whether someone in the WeatherNet had started planning the day-to-day climate as a political statement: such an unnecessarily gloomy morning was more than fitting for a day in which the Senate was to vote on giving even further executive powers to the Chancellor.

 _How did it come to this?_ , she thought bitterly as she poured her hot caff in a mug. She was too weary to even rehearse the speech she was going to give as the leader of the opposition – it would fall on deaf ears, that much she knew already.

Fear had taken its grip on the Galaxy and billions of living beings were more than willing to give up their liberty in exchange for security, a security that only the steadfast resolve shown by the Chancellor seemed able to assure. Since even someone as brave as her husband shared this view, how could she expect normal people who had suffered under the cannons of Dooku’s minions to care about executive powers while their lives and those of their children were at stake? Huffing, she grabbed her HoloPad to read the morning news.

She almost chocked on her breakfast as the image that greeted was an holopicture of _herself_ , Bail Organa, Obi-Wan and Anakin standing with wine glasses in their hands on her open balcony. She remembered that day: it had been the day after she’d been released from the hospital in the aftermath of the dreadful Blue Shadow Virus incident.

Desperately, her eyes rushed to the headline, which she read with a mixture of relief – at least, it was not about her _and_ Anakin – and rising dismay.

 

_CORUSCANTI ÉLITE OPPOSE THE CHANCELLOR OVER IDEOLOGICAL CRUSADES_

_Padmé Amidala, the 26 years old Senator from Naboo, is scheduled to deliver her speech in the Senate Rotunda before today’s vote on the Emergency Amendment 187 – which, as you all know, will grant our Chancellor the power to directly order and supervise investigations into the actions of Senators and Representatives under suspicion of collusion with the Separatist enemy._

_Amidala is renown for her political activity as much as she is for her beauty; elected as the Queen of Naboo at only fourteen years of age, she serves now as Senator for the sophisticated Mid-Rim planet, an office bestowed upon her after she helped Chancellor Palpatine raise to Chancellorship. Elegant and charming, Padmé Amidala is a style icon for the Coruscanti upper class, and half the Galaxy envies her for the men who routinely attend her salon at 500 Republica: Senators, artists, moguls, bankers and, Jogan on top of the cake, Jedi Knights, a menagerie worthy of a Queen._

_Even though she belongs to the ruling élite, the Nubian Senator is a vocal advocate for the rights of the underprivileged, for whom she often takes up the cudgels in the Rotunda, aided by her devotee, Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan (who, for the record, seems to have a soft spot for young Queens, having married the ruler of his homeworld)._

_In her devotion to her cause, fuelled by the unbridled passion of youth, Senator Amidala has hosted a number of charity galas (in the picture, a holoimage taken at the cocktail party she hosted in her luxurious apartment to raise funds for the decontamination of her homeworld, following the alleged use of bioweapons by the Separatists. From left to right, Senator Amidala, Senator Organa, Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, neither of whom was able to provide definitive proof of Separatist involvement; it may have been only the insane machination of a mad scientist now in prison for his crimes)._

_Amidala’s idealism isn’t restricted to the aid of the poor. Her new crusade as the leader of the opposition has led her to fervently oppose the bestowal of further powers upon the Chancellor; the plea she made last week for the resumption of peace negotiations is already trending on the HoloNet. It is only to be hoped that Amidala’s childhood friend Mina Bonteri, a member of the self-proclaimed Separatist Senate, will listen to her friend’s heartfelt appeal._

_For the moment, much as we admire the Senator’s touching idealism, we sincerely hope that a more pragmatist view will prevail in the Senate, passing this amendment; until this amendment is approved, Senators with secret Separatist affiliation will be free to roam our Senate and vote on our bills and. Right now, while Amidala debates at her cocktail parties in 500 Republica, the Outer Rim burns._

It was not exactly _subtle_ , but it was not _that_ _blatant_ either. Unjust accusations hidden beneath idle gossip, paternalistic tones and condescendence aimed at discrediting her figure and her aims. The choice of the image – the only fundraising she had ever hosted for her own planet – was a subtle hint to the possibility that, behind her words, she only cared about pleasing her own electorate. With a pang of guilt, she hoped that nor Bail nor Breha would see that offhand jab on the possibility of an affair between her and Bail.

The beeping of her comlink distracted her from her gloomy thoughts; feeling her heart jump in her chest at the possibility it could be Anakin – _mercy of the Moon Goddess, I pray he never reads this –_ she accepted the incoming transmission.

“Senator Amidala.”

_“Senator, here is the Chancellor Office. The Chancellor wishes to meet with you before today’s Senate session. In twenty minutes, if that’s convenient for you.”_

Padmé sighed. The day didn’t seem to be going to get any better. “Very well. Tell the Chancellor I will be there. Amidala out.”

 

* * *

 

The quest for the first kyber crystal in the Caves of Ilum was a memory seared on the soul of every Jedi: the long hours of meditation, the cold, the silence, the eerie chant of the crystals, the visions, the fear, the hope.

_He who faces himself, finds himself._

That was what every Youngling was told in the snow before entering the Caves, and face themselves they must, for no crystal would come to those who didn’t know the light and the darkness within them.

_Know thyself._

Ahsoka made no exception: Master Plo had accompanied her to her own Gathering; back then, she had thought it was meant to be the first step of a long and loving apprenticeship, but had been instead the last step under his guidance. She still remembered his clawed hand on her tiny shoulder, when he had gently pushed her towards the icy entrance and the darkness within, his soothing presence a center of gravity.

Even back then, young and naïve, Ahsoka had felt the power of Ilum, a place out of space and out of time, eternal and never changing, pure, untainted, unspoiled, the essence of light shining through the dark. The song of its crystals was the song of the Force, ever changing and forever the same, immutable tradition more sacred than the Code itself, the quest for one’s place in the universe.

The Crystal Cave of Dantooine was nothing like Ilum. The bleak tunnel dove deeply into the bowels of earth, through foundations of stone and mounds of damp ground. Creatures lived there, twisted, the kinraths, arachnoid spawns of horror and dread. Their webs fell from the ceiling like dried-up flesh on a skeleton’s frame, the air smelled of decay.

The Force, though, sung in slow but powerful chords, a vibrant choir muffled by wet earth that echoed across the virgin rock; the kinrath webs danced at its rhythm, swirling at the touch a wind born from nowhere. Still, there was no Darkness within – merely oblivion.

“There is no death," came Obi-Wan steadying voice, his hand a gentle brush on her wrist. There was no shielding either: their thoughts resonated clear in the Force.

“There is the Force," she gratefully whispered back.

Deeper they went, following the chant to the core of the Caves, through labyrinthine tunnels and pitch-black recesses, until a silent melody of sparkling light divided itself from the main song of the Force, a new call reaching out.

With no need to speak they followed the call. After a few turns and twists the path straightened, leading them to an arched passageway.

Whatever they were looking for, they both knew they would find it there; there was no mistaking the Force. After the briefest hesitation, they crossed the threshold and suddenly came to a halt, hearts bumping their her chest, lekku and hands not shaking only thanks to their training.

A vast cavern opened in front of them, ovoid in shape, its crooked roof supported by a twisted pillar near the further end. Around the pillar and along the sides of the cave a constellation of sparkling kyber crystals gleamed in the light born from within.

The melody of their timeless call was heartbreakingly sweet, the call of the starmaids.

It was one of Anakin’s favorite tales, one he’d heard as a child from the deep space pilots. He had told Ahsoka of those creatures who lived in the depths of Wild Space: they were said to sing so sweetly those who heard their call fell immediately in love, following their voice in a frenzy, only to be lured into the black hole that, in the end, claimed their lives.

The eerie chant of the crystals had no such dark intent, but the beauty that echoed within was enough to drive into madness those unable to find their balance in the Force.

Understanding the danger, Ahsoka breathed, extending her senses down into the earth and up to the rock, caressing every particle of dust and following the mineral veins; slowly, she became the kinrath web and the droplets of water, the musk and the gravel, the heavy air and the darkness. Obi-Wan followed her lead, helping her keeping her center and enhancing her reach, his presence an anchor in this storming ocean of decayed life.

Slowly, carefully, keeping all those connections awake, Ahsoka sprung a tendril of consciousness forward, prodding the sparkling ripples in the velvet gloom made by the crystals. Electricity cracked around her when the connections with the kybers was made and they let her in, a glorious flash of refracted lights. The crystals in their sabers hummed content, and the light of their blades shone superbly in the dark.

Time itself was suspended, new tender life sprouting from death; the Force opened, light pierced the darkness and a voice came from the nothingness of time.

“Who are you, who come to torment me with the scourge of Malachor in your soul?”

Startled, Ahsoka jolted out of her trance. In front of them, eerily glowing in blue like some sort of hologram stood the translucent image of a woman in her late thirties. Clad in old-fashioned Jedi robes, the elaborate kind Ahsoka had seen only on the statues of the Knights of the Old Republic, she stood in aloof countenance, gazing at Ahsoka with piercing, light eyes that were probably supposed to be of a clear blue; yet something, in the angle of her eyebrows and in the twist of her lips, gave her stern face, surrounded by short, fair hair, a lively quality, the reflection of a quick wit and of iron determination. Somehow, she reminded Ahsoka of Obi-Wan.

Without thinking, both of them lowered their hoods and bowed at the figure, recognizing in her the image of a Jedi Master.

Obi-Wan glanced at Ahsoka: it was her the woman had singled out. She swallowed, the Force crawling like electricity on her skin. “My name is Ahsoka Tano. I bear you no ill will, Master.”

The woman looked genuinely puzzled.

“Yet the taint of Malachor echoes in you. It drew me to you as soon as I felt you.”

Ahsoka blinked. “I have been to Malachor.” Though, what that could have to do with anything now escaped her. “And trust me, the less I have to do with it, the better.”

The woman favored her a crooked smile, apparently satisfied with the answer.

“I cannot blame you. Still, no one leaves that place unchanged. Unscathed.” Her eyes were suddenly drawn to Ahsoka’s lit saber. She seemed taken aback by the color of her blade, but then nodded, as if at last convinced. “But in essence you remained the same, and you still walk on the path of Light. We have much in common, young one. It is not mere coincidence that brought you here. What do you seek?”

With a sharp _hiss_ Ahsoka’s silver blade was withdrawn in its hilt, followed after a heartbeat by its sapphire companion. She clipped it at her belt and knelt, her hands resting splayed on her knees, the slight bow of her head an universal gesture of respect; Obi-Wan set beside her cross-legged.

“We were sent here to seek knowledge.”

The eerie woman mirrored Ahsoka’s position. Her blue glow cast a twinkling light across the multifaceted crystals that adorned the walls of the cave; it was a marvelous view, if slightly unnerving.

“And what kind of knowledge do you seek from an Exile?”

Ahsoka heard Obi-Wan’s sharp intake of breath. “ _The_ Exile? The General of Malachor V?” he asked, his sheer surprise vibrating in the dank darkness.

“I was her”, she said, keeping her gaze steady. “And I see that Malachor V is still my bane, millennia after my death.”

“I daresay it’s hardly surprising," Obi-Wan sais dryly, a thin frown creasing his forehead. “What kind of technology is this? I see no holocrons.”

“I am no product of technology, Master Jedi. What does the Force tell you?”

Both Ahsoka and Obi-Wan closed their eyes, reaching out to the Force, sending tendrils of consciousness towards the glowing figure, prodding at its contours – and they found themselves staring at a star, a conundrum in the Force, a light that had been stifled just to emerge more bright than ever.

Ahsoka’s montrals twitched in awe, and she heard Obi-Wan stiffening at her side. _First Mortis and time-travel, now the dead talking,_ she could hear him think in the thick Force of the cave. _The Force is bent on disabusing me of every knowledge I think I had. Well, as long as it is a Jedi surviving dead._ With a small shiver, Ahsoka decided that she didn’t want to disabuse him of _this_ particular notion yet.

“But you are dead," Obi-Wan said.

“There is no death, there is the Force," the ghost gently remarked.

“How?”

“There are ways for living beings to retain their consciousness in the Living Force as they die," she explained. “I learnt about these techniques during my exile in Wild Space, and I am neither the first nor the last.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “I don’t sense any darkness in you, but isn’t eternal life supposed to be a desire worthy of a Sith?”

The woman shook her head. “And what about war, then? It all depends on how you go about on fulfilling your goals, and why.”

“Well, what you and Revan did to win at Malachor V destroyed an entire planet and innumerable lives. That’s not really the Jedi way.”

Ahsoka flinched. “What are you talking about?”

The ghost, of all things, rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m still here talking with the Jedi about Malachor.” When Obi-Wan didn’t reply, she sighed. “You’ve been to Malachor, you know there was a battle between the Jedi and the Sith, long before my age. Malachor V is another planet in that system, where the last battle of the Mandalorian Wars took place. We suffered great losses. The only way we could turn the tide and end the war was to activate the Mass Shadow Generator, a device that would create a gravity vortex strong enough to devour Mandalore’s fleet. We did, and Malachor collapsed on itself. The Mandalorian fleet was destroyed, and so was half of the Republic’s. Tens of thousands people died that day, Mandalorians, Republic soldiers and Jedi alike.” She looked Ahsoka in the eyes, and Ahsoka shivered. Even in death, horror haunted their depths. “Revan made the plan. I gave the order.”

“And Revan fell”, Obi-Wan said, not ungently.

“Revan, and all the other Jedi but me. The pain, the horror, the hate were unbearable. No Jedi could feel it and remain whole.”

“So how could you?” Ahsoka asked.

“I didn’t. I didn’t remain whole. I chose to renounce the Force rather than fall.” Ahsoka’s shock pierced the air, and the Exile shook her head somberly. “Only after years my connection came back. I gathered my kyber in this cave almost four millennia ago. I lived hundreds of generations before the living memory of your age, but mere seconds ago in the life of the Force. I can’t see the future, but I read the echoes of the struggles of your times in the Force, the exiles you may still become. Darkness awaits you, as it did us. Back then, the Jedi died. We were almost wiped out, and those of us who survived lived in exile or in hiding. A similar fate might await you still.”

“We need your help.” Obi-Wan felt the hair on the back of his neck rise at the grim determination in Ahsoka’s voice. There was no pleading. It was almost _demanding._

The Exile closed her eyes and the small sigh that escaped her lips created a soft wave in the Force. The kybers behind her dimmed for a moment. “The age I’ve lived in is nothing like yours. The Force was… _deeper_. More frightening. I faced a dead men kept alive by pain, another man whose hunger made him able to feed off the Force, a woman who wanted to use me to destroy the Force itself. I was trained a Jedi, but the Master who taught me most was a Sith, and it was her who saved my life from the Jedi when they cast me out because I never fell.” The blue of her eyes was burning now, a fire in the depths of the sea. “The Dark Side was hunger, rage, raw power. It could swallow planets. Now it creeps under your skin, slithering fear, subtle control. There is nothing I can teach you against the darkness of your age.”

“That’s quite possible," Obi-Wan said, and Ahsoka could sense the strain in his voice, the effort to tame the flames. “It is not the darkness of the Sith what we need to fight, not now.” His eyes were lost in some unreadable shadow. “It’s the darkness within what I am afraid of”, he confessed.

The Exile closed her eyes. “The fear of every Jedi.”

“The fear of every man," Obi-Wan retorted. “There is no need to feel the Force to be afraid of the darkness inside us. Even if, of course, the Force makes everything worse.”

“And why do you ask this of me?” she said sharply.

“I believe it was the will of the Force that brought us here. I am a member of the Jedi Council, but not even I have full access to the files regarding your age”, Obi-Wan said, looking immensely tired. “We all know the story – Revan’s fall and his redemption– some say he choose to, some say he was brainwashed, first by the Sith and then by the Jedi. They say – _you_ said – you resisted the darkness that took half of the Order. I don’t think that even our Sentinels know the real truth of these stories. I wonder why Eran never told anyone about you.”

“I guess it’s for the same reason why they exiled me in the first place," she said, with an undertone of morbid humor. “As the willful forgetfulness about our age seems to indirectly confirm.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t deny it – yet it was not the fault of the Jedi of his age. This oblivion was millennia old. He exhaled, forcing himself to keep his gaze in her eyes. “ _Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny._ That’s what we are taught since infancy. But if that’s true, if Revan really turned back – if he falls, there is still hope?”

Ahsoka caught her breath. He really _meant_ it. The hope to turn a Sith back to the Light, should everything else fail.

The Exile looked at him with compassionate eyes. “I don’t think you’re talking about Revan.” She stifled a gentle laugh. “And I don’t think you’re talking about yourself either.”

Obi-Wan didn’t reply.

“You already know the answer, Jedi. The answer our Order has been forever afraid of. After Revan’s return, those who hated him used to say he used both the Light and the Dark. They were wrong. He _acknowledged_ both – they were part of him. He found the balance on which to _choose_ , and chose the Light. You can’t make one turn to the light just as you can’t make one fall.”

“Then why are we taught that?” Ahsoka hoarsely asked. She remembered her desperate plea for Anakin to come back when she’d faced Vader on Malachor – but it had been an attempt born of love rather than of a deep knowledge of the Force.

“This is something you have to understand on your own. I can give you knowledge but I can’t teach you wisdom.”

Ahsoka was about to protest but Obi-Wan interrupted her. “That seems fine," he said.

“Your companion doesn’t seem to agree," the Exile noted.

“No, I don’t.” Ahsoka felt Obi-Wan’s gaze on her but didn’t turn to meet it. “I’ve already seen a person I love fall to the darkness. I won’t see that happen again, not if I can do something about it, and you seem to know a great deal about all of this.”

“Child.” The Exile spoke softly, and Ahsoka felt her hand tremble when Obi-Wan gently clasped it. “I know what it means to lose a friend to the Dark Side. I’ve lost more than one… But you have to remember, every story is different. We made our path with our choices. He was trained by the Jedi and he fell. I was trained by a Sith but remained in the Light. There is no recipe, no single way forward. Step after step after step, it’s always a choice.”

“And what about the will of the Force?” Ahsoka blurted. “What about prophecies and visions?”

“I was killed for a vision.” Ahsoka caught her breath, but the Exile smiled. “An ally of mine had a vision of another person defeating the enemy we were fighting. He stabbed me in my back and bid his time until the person of his vision came. The thing is, we will never know. Once you make a step in the future, there’s no coming back.” The contours of her figure started to tremble, and the Force around them grew warm. “Do not overthink your destinies. Revan and I have become legends but, in the end, we were nothing. A man and a woman in the eternal tide of time.”

The Force went still, and she disappeared. Ahsoka, speechless, turned to Obi-Wan and snorted in seeing his expression of mild puzzlement, just as if he’d seen a sock he didn’t remember owning in his room.

“Well, that was – _interesting_ ," he said.

“I’ve had enough _interesting_ for a lifetime, Master," she groaned. They didn’t speak anymore until they reached their rooms, and they wished each other goodnight knowing that either were going to lay awake for a few troubled hours before sleep would claim them.

 

* * *

 

“Senator, my dear. Please sit down. May I offer you something to drink?”

In the gray light filtering from behind the clouds the Supreme Chancellor seemed even more tired than usual. Padmé sat down across the table, her stomach still clenched.

“No, thank you, Chancellor. I’ve just had breakfast.” She pulled her brightest smile. “You wanted to see me?”

“Indeed. My Press Office forwarded me that sordid article published this morning. I wanted to offer you my sympathy, Senator.”

Padmé shrugged. “Thank you Chancellor. I’m afraid it’s impossible, for someone in my position, to avoid being dragged through the mud.”

The Chancellor regarded her with concerned understanding. “Your career is so unblemished that they had to stoop to idle gossip to find means to attack you, my dear. Although, and forgive me if I sound patronizing, I was afraid that something like this could happen.” He frowned slightly from above his stapled fingers. “You know that, in theory, I wholeheartedly agree with your opposition to all these constitutional amendments. Still, much as I loathe both this war and its political consequences, I won’t pass up the opportunity to use those powers to better things.”

“I wouldn’t call this tragedy an _opportunity_ , your Excellency," she said, trying to conceal her distaste for his choice of words. “The opportunity was in the long years of peace in which we let corruption flood our Senate.”

“Yes, Senator. Yes.” His eyes animated by an almost feverish determination, Palpatine stood up and started pacing the narrow space between his desk and the giant window behind it. “This is the point: between the bureaucracy, the economical interests and the lobbies at play not even in ten years I was able to dismantle this system. The Goddess of water forgive us, my dear, the representatives of the Trade Federation still have a seat in the Senate, even after their invasion of hour homeworld ten years ago and the fact that they are clearly siding with the Separatists! My hands have been tied for a decade. With this amendment, at last, I will be able to supervise any inquires into Dod Lott’s dealing with Nute Gunray and his cronies. Do you really trust the courts to handle these inquiries fairly, after the way they let the Federation go unscathed in the aftermath of the invasion of Naboo?”

Feeling her mask of detachment crumbling under the weight of the stress, Padmé sighed. “I know, Chancellor, but still, executive and judicial powers should be kept separate. It’s a very dangerous precedent, even if in these circumstance it might work at our advantage.”

“I know, I know," Palpatine said wearily. “But what can I do? Let our own Senators double-cross us and drag the war on to no end? Or wait until popular discontent forces another vote of no confidence and some warmonger takes my place? I told you what was coming, I told you three days ago when we were revising the Financial Bill. It wasn’t casual that they choose a picture with you and Senator Organa; I wouldn’t be surprised if he is to be the next target of this derogatory campaign. You were the first only because you are scheduled to speak today.”

“I won’t change my ideals, Chancellor.” Padmé held his gaze as he turned to look her in the eyes. “I am sorry. Don’t take it personally, but I am not going to barter legality for convenience. Not even for my own.”

“Not even that of our people, Senator?”

Padmé clenched her fists under the table. “I am defending them. Perhaps I’m against what would help them right now, but I try to look at the wider picture, and I’m sure that time will tell I was right. I am not a privileged idealist as they portray me. I hope to be defined as someone who’s thinking ahead.”

“The only problem is that for many of our people there won’t be an _ahead_ , if this war goes on," the Chancellor blurted, an unusual strain in his voice. Padmé stiffened, and he sighed. “Forgive me. This war – it’s too much. I am worried. I only want it to end. Many people don’t care about the war because of the clones, it’s not like it’s their children doing the fighting. I may be one of the few souls in the Galaxy who actually has a dear one on the battlefield.” He sat down, greyer than ever.

Padmé tried her best not to let her emotions show; she had to play coy, but she couldn’t feign too much obliviousness. “You and General Skywalker are close, aren’t you?”

“Anakin is like a son to me," Palpatine said, staring out of the window across Coruscant polished expanse. “Knowing he risks his life everyday – it’s hard, my dear. And I am quite fond of Kenobi as well, I will never be grateful enough for what he did on Naboo.” A small smile pulled at his lips. “Anakin hinted at the fact that Kenobi took on a new apprentice – do you know who it is?”

Padmé blinked. “Why do you ask me?”

“Oh, I thought – I know you have a good relationship, after Naboo and Geonosis, I surmised…”

 _Stang._ Padmé felt her cheeks reddening at her bluff being called so bluntly, and tried to mask her embarrassment with jumping at the opportunity to divert Palpatine’s attention on Obi-Wan. “Oh. Yes, yes, of course. It’s a teenage boy, he was Master Billaba’s Padawan.”

Palpatine frowned. “Master Windu’s former apprentice? The one who was Councilor ten years ago?” Padmé nodded. “I remember her from Master Jinn’s funeral. I thought she was dead – Master Kenobi took her seat on the Council after the beginning of the war, didn’t he?”

“No, she didn’t die – she fell ill – a Jedi illness, I don’t know the details.” She wasn’t going to divulge restricted information on Force users, that much was sure, but if she could let Palpatine think that these details came from Obi-Wan rather than Anakin... it was worth a try. “She recovered and they gave her an apprentice, but apparently she’s had a relapse – Master Kenobi offered to take on her Padawan until she gets better.”

Palpatine smiled. “That’s very kind of him. Master Kenobi is a remarkable Jedi – a remarkable man, I would say. It’s a pity he doesn’t trust politicians, except of course you and Senator Organa. He would have made a wonderful one.” He frowned again. “I just hope that now that both of them have an apprentice the Jedi won’t split up _the Team_. We need our poster boys for the HoloNet.”

“No, they are not going to. The Council knows they’re too good together. Caleb’s apprenticeship to Master Kenobi is just a provisional one, until Master Billaba-”

Her words were interrupted by the soft sound of a chime. Palpatine huffed impatiently. “I explicitly said I wasn’t to be disturbed. Forgive me, Senator.” He pressed a button on the armrest of his chair and the door slid open; Sly Moore stepped inside, acknowledging Padmé with a deferent bow of her head. The Umbaran administrative aid walked towards Palpatine and whispered something in his ear; Padmé had turned her head to give the Chancellor his privacy, but in the corner of her eye she saw him paling considerably.

“Very well," he said, his voice tense. “I will see to this immediately.”

Sly Moore bowed once again and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Padmé got up to leave. “I have taken enough of your time, Chancellor. I’m sure you have business to attend.”

Palpatine shook his head tiredly. “Unfortunately, my dear, this concerns you as well. I’ve just received some disturbing news from Queen Apaliana. Naboo Intelligence has intercepted a speech delivered by Boss Lyonie at a Gungan festivity in Pau City… The sound is awfully scrambled, but from the scraps they have managed to understand – it appears the Gungan are planning an attack on Theed.”

Padmé fell back on her chair. “I can’t believe that”, she said.

“It appears that General Greivous is behind this. Our intelligence couldn’t reconstruct the whole context but his name popped up, that much seems to be sure.”

Padmé’s lips thinned in a resolute line. “I will depart for Naboo as soon as possible. I will ask Representative Binks to set up a meeting with Boss Lyonie. I will get to the bottom of this matter.”

Palpatine seemed relieved at her promptness to act. “I wish it was otherwise, but I am afraid this is the best course of action. May I suggest you take a Jedi Knight with you as additional security?”

“I’m afraid they’re spread too thin right now to have Knights to spare to jump at shadows and rumors,” Padmé replied. “I will do this myself.”

“Anakin is not at the front," Palpatine suggested.

“He is on meditative retreat with Master Kenobi. I do not wish to deprive him of this short respite.”

Palpatine smiled fondly, shaking his head. “You are too kind a soul, Senator. Still, I think that Anakin’s help might prove invaluable… And if Grievous is truly involved, you can’t expect to resolve this matter without the help of the Jedi. I will have to alert the Council, and they will send someone anyway. I suppose it’s better if we ask for Anakin directly… At least, he is in good terms with the Gungans.” He considered the holomap of the trading routes and separatist blockades which had just popped out from his armrest. “Dantooine is merely a day travel from the Hydian Way… If he leaves in a few hours, Anakin can be on Naboo in two days.”

Padmé couldn’t find fault in this line of reasoning and, truth be told, much as she loathed the idea to recall Anakin after only a day since his arrival on Dantooine, she felt safer at the thought of having him by her side.

“Very well, Chancellor. I will heed your advice. While you contact the Council, I will make arrangements for my departure.”

The Chancellor rose with her and turned around the table to squeeze her hand. “I am most grateful, Padmé. Naboo will forever be in your debt.”

 

* * *

 

“I can only conclude that your aversion to meditation is strong enough to make the Force itself find a way for you to escape it," Obi-Wan noted drily, his eyes still bleary from his interrupted sleep. He was still lying in his bed, trying to look with a fake annoyed stare at the figure of his former apprentice, who was standing in the doorframe of Obi-Wan’s room.

“Well, it could have timed its intervention better and let us sleep a few hours more," Anakin replied. Unlike his unfortunate former Master, whom he had just awoken, Anakin was already dressed and cloaked, but his tousled hair and his slightly unfocused stare bespoke of his nostalgia for his bed.

“Much as I sympathise, I still don't see why you had to come to my room to wake _me_ ; pre-recorded holomessages are a technology our galaxy has known for at least ten millennia. I find it unfair you’re making me suffer the consequence of the fact you’ve been chosen once again for Senatorial duty, my too young friend.”

Anakin tried to hide his blush behind what he thought was a deadpan expression; he really didn’t want to know if there was some innuendo about his Senatorial duties in his Master’s words. “Well, you know, I didn’t want to rob you of the pleasure to scold me one last time before I left.”

Obi-Wan smirked. “How considerate of you.” He threw back his sheets and ran a hand through his hair. “Are you taking Ahsoka with you?”

Anakin threw himself on a chair. “No. Probably it’ll be just another diplomatic mess, but if the intel is spot-on and Grievous is involved I don’t want her anywhere near that monster.”

Obi-Wan cocked an eyebrow. “You know that if you tell her this she will stow away on your ship, do you?”

Anakin laughed. “That’s why I’m telling her I’m leaving her here because it’s just a diplomatic mission and she needs some vacation.” He paused and bit his lip. “And, well, it’s not like that’s not true, now that I think about it.”

“Not at all”, Obi-Wan replied, almost in dismay.

Anakin raised his head to meet his former Master’s eyes, whose sadness made him almost flinch. He started speaking slowly. “You know, most of the time I forget how it was before the war. My life before the Jedi was, well, some bantha _poodoo_ , and I can’t say being your Padawan hasn’t been without some very kriffed up moments.” The two men exchanged an amused smile at the recollections – illegal podracing and garbage pit races and gundarks and only the Force knew what else. “But being in war at her age, for so many years… How is she going to grow up?”

Obi-Wan rose – not without a slight loss of balance – from his bed and clasped his former Padawan’s shoulders.

“She’ll do fine, Anakin. You have trained her well.”

Anakin regarded him with a crooked smile. “I thought I was still training her.”

Obi-Wan blushed, a reaction Anakin didn’t quite understand. “It seems this early rise is undermining my grammatical proficiency," he said.

Anakin snorted. “Force’s sake, Obi-Wan, you speak like some Old Sith Wars holocron, and it’s just five in the morning. _Undermining your grammatical proficiency_ , of course. Anyway, you’re right. I’m very proud of her.”

“And I am very proud of both of you, Anakin. Ahsoka is brave and strong, but you gave her confidence and taught her how to think with her own head. She will become a great Jedi, as her Master before her.”

Anakin couldn’t really control the blush that spread over his face. “Master – Obi-Wan – thanks, I–”

“You’ll be late if you keep loitering," Obi-Wan graciously interrupted his dumbfounded stuttering. “I’ll tell Ahsoka for you if you don’t want to wake her up.”

“Yes, you’d do me a favor. And can you please help her with her footwork? We hadn’t have time to spar since before Mortis and I still have nightmares about her falling from that cliff on Lola Sayu.”

“It will be my pleasure.”

Anakin cocked his head, smiling. “Will you manage, here on your own with two Padawans and two Younglings?”

“I survived you, I think I could manage with a rabid rancor" Obi-Wan deadpanned.

“Very funny. I really must be going. I’ll leave you to your morning meditations.”

“You’re delusional, Anakin. You’re leaving me to my bed.” Obi-Wan clasped again his shoulders, a slight frown on his face. “Be careful. I’m not happy with this decision of the Council not to send me with you.”

“I spoke with Master Windu. There’s still fighting over the Trellen Trade Route. I suspect you’re going to rejoin your men sooner than expected.”

Obi-Wan stroke his bears pensively. “I will comm Saesee later to ask for updates. Anyway, Anakin, Grievous is indeed a monster, and a very skilled one for that matters. _Don’t_ engage him unless you’ve no other option.”

“Yes, yes”, Anakin dismissed him, grinning cheekily. “I won’t do anything you wouldn’t do, Master.”

"Well, that's not really reassuring," Obi-Wan admitted.

“You’ve said that, not I. Say bye to Ahsoka and the kids for me, will you?”

“Of course. And you give Senator Amidala my regards. Take care, and may the Force be with you.”

“May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan”, Anakin replied, his cloak swirling behind him in the torch-lit corridor, casting a looming shadow against the backdrop of fire.

 

* * *

 

The golden light of morning was gently falling on Caleb’s perfect specimen of Padawan pout, while Obi-Wan, who had invited his new Padawan to have breakfast on the balcony of his room, was gathering every ounce of his Jedi training not to roll his eyes.

“But it makes no sense! Why are they holding us back?”, the boy whined behind a mug of blue milk.

For a horrified moment Obi-Wan felt as if it had been him instead of Ahsoka the one who had time-traveled to his own past. _Are all teenage boys in the Galaxy like this or is it just my lot in this life to have to deal with them?_ , Obi-Wan wondered, half-annoyed and half-amused “Of course, Master, I would never question the decisions of the Council –”, Caleb went on. “It’s just – I don’t understand, there’s a war going on and we’re here making picnics on archaeological sites while our men die.”

Well, at least the boy had a little respect for the Council. Obi-Wan supposed he could find some comfort in that.

“They are not _holding us back,_ Caleb. They are giving us time to regroup. My troops are on loan to Master Tiin and I don’t think us being here for a few days would make any difference. Besides I have reason to suspect we’ll be deployed to the front very soon.”

Caleb’s lips curled at the prospect, and this time there was no Force-fueled forbearance to stop Obi-Wan from sighing.

“But why would we need to come here to meditate in the first place?” Caleb asked again, his eyes sparkling with a curiosity still unsullied by the weariness a life as a Jedi often brought. “Why didn’t we just remain on Coruscant?”

“I asked the Council for a leave.” He pondered his answer for a few seconds, then came to a decision. “I don’t want to burden you with worries that are not yours to bear, but I won’t even try and pretend to believe that Master Billaba, a former Concilior, never shared Temple gossip regarding me and my former Padawan, especially in the light of recent developments.”

Caleb blushed hard enough to give Obi-Wan the confirmation he needed. He tried to mutter something but Obi-Wan interrupted him with a smile.

“Your Master has made me a favor, Caleb, and I would have done the same. Depa was on the Council when we brought Anakin to the Temple, she is fully aware of the situation. Add to Anakin’s purported destiny our completely unrelated involvement in the events that led up to the first battle on Geonosis and our duel with Dooku – one could say that, either by chance or by the will of the Force, our paths cross at an unfortunate rate that of Dooku and his minions.” Caleb’s green eyes were now wide, fear mixed with youthful excitement on his face. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but wonder for how long those eyes would retain their purity. “The fact that Depa proposed me as your iterim Master means that she trusts you to be able to face those menaces, and this is a praise indeed. We barely know each other, Caleb – but this is not a problem, Anakin had never seen Ahsoka in his life when the Council appointed him as her Master, and they’re doing more than fine. The, say, difficulty lies in the fact that you have two Masters. This makes things more difficult in regard to our training bond. This is the main reason why I asked for a leave – this, and the difficulties Ahsoka faced in a past mission.”

“How are we going to make things work out?” Caleb asked.

“We won’t have a training bond as strong as it normally is. I spoke with Master Windu earlier, and he’s quite confident that Master Billaba will make a full recovery in a few months. Had it been a wound in the flesh, we wouldn’t have acted upon your training, but exposing for months a boy of your age to the Dark Side would have been ill-advised indeed.”

Sensing Caleb’s distress at the mention of his Master’s struggle, Obi-Wan squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “She will get out of it, Caleb. Do not be afraid.”

“I am not afraid!” The protest only made his pout more – well, _cute_ , Obi-Wan couldn’t find another word. He had definitely been too young when faced with a pre-teen Anakin to fully appreciate the endearing charm of that age. “I am worried about her. Will she turn?”

 _Poor child_.

“No, Caleb, Depa won’t turn. She is not falling to the Dark Side, she is merely more vulnerable. What happened to her on Haruun Kal, the loss of almost all her men and the six months of coma she fell in – all of that opened the door to despair. Jedi do not simply _fall_ because they feel fear, anger or hate; sooner or later, it happens to every one of us. It’s when we choose to act upon those feelings and feel empowered by them and do evil without repentance that we truly fall. Master Billaba is simply more vulnerable to the darkness, her defenses are weakened. She channels her despair and her anger, and she finds it hard to let go of them, but she struggles to. Until the struggle is going on, she is a Jedi. And she will always be, Caleb.”

Obi-Wan pretended not to notice the redness in Caleb’s eyes. The Force knew how much he would have needed someone to tell him those exact words in the endless sleepless nights after Naboo, when he’d relived time after time in his nightmares the fury of his battle against Maul, the unbalance that had made him fall, the fight to regain his focus and then, supreme shame, the savage joy he had felt in cutting the Sith in half. He knew he had touched the darkness, but he had never had the courage to go and ask Yoda for counsel – he had been to afraid they would take Anakin from him. _Anakin._ Anakin had his darkness, Obi-Wan had always known that, but he had always trusted his student and friend to be able to overcome it. Now, thought… knowing what he knew – _focus, Obi-Wan_ , he told himself. _Now you are dealing with Caleb. Anakin’s issues will have to wait. He_ will not _fail._ His thoughts went to what had happened the previous night. _I will be there with him when he has to face his choices_ , he thought. _Force, let me be with him._

“Now come meditate with me, Caleb," he said, surprised at the unflinching tone of his voice. “The bond we’ve started creating in the Temple needs to be strengthened, we need to learn how to manage this split apprenticeship.”

Caleb gulped down the remainder of his milk and joined Obi-Wan to sit on the floor, their faces gently caressed by the rising sun, promise of the bright day to come.

 

* * *

 

Of course, Obi-Wan should have known better; even the brightest day could be tainted by storm clouds, as he was reminded the following afternoon. He was sitting cross-legged in the Enclave dojo, watching Ahsoka and Caleb spar before him, deep in thought about his new apprentice. He was satisfied of the results of their joint mediation: Caleb was a perceptive boy and, though headstrong and reckless, had a strong sense of duty. Their connection wasn’t as strong as it would have been in normal circumstances, and he was wary of the dangers of letting a part of his mind open to the darkness Depa was fighting, but there was no other choice. Still, the premises were good and, Force aside, he truly liked the boy. Besides, he was more than happy to teach Soresu to an eager student, something neither Anakin nor Ahsoka had ever been – even if, truth be told, he could now see some of his old moves in her new fight style.

His considerations were interrupted by the buzzing of his comlink.

He answered the call. “Kenobi.”

 _“Obi-Wan, it’s Mace.”_ Obi-Wan frowned. Council news meant bad news. _“I’m afraid we’ll have to recall you sooner than expected.”_

“What’s happened?”

_“Nothing too dire. We’ve secured most of the Trellen, but Saesee didn’t manage to break the blockade over Umbara. We need to take the planet back, it’s capital we secure that hyperlanw, it’s too near to Kashyyyk.”_

“Very well. We can leave right now.” He saw with the corner of his eye Caleb stiffening in the midst of a lunge; Ahsoka, for her part, seemed resigned. He gestured them to stop their exercise and join him.

 _“I am sorry, Obi-Wan.”_ Mace paused. _“How are things going with the Padawans?”_

“Ahsoka has completely recovered, and I’m very pleased with Caleb, Mace. Depa has done a great job with him. How is she?”

_“Better, Obi-Wan, thank you. It’s not easy, but she is a fighter.”_

Obi-Wan smiled. “She is indeed. And what about the Younglings?”

_“Kinght Daral told me they are doing fine. I’d say we let them stay for a while if they wish; there’s a medical convo bound for Coruscant leaving next week, they can return with the clones.”_

“Very well.” He hesitated. “Have you heard from Anakin?”

_“He’s just rendezvoused with Senator Amidala on Naboo, they’re on their way to Ooth Gunga. He’s already been told that as soon as his work there is over he’s to join you on Umbara. The Resolute is already on its way, and it will be under your command until Skywalker arrives.”_

Obi-Wan nodded. “I’ll alert Cody.”

 _“Already done. He’s leaving Coruscant with the Resolute and Pong Krell’s flagship – we’re sending him as a backup as well. Leave as soon as you can, Obi-Wan; Dantooine and Umbara are not far but you’ll have to make multiple jumps. We are planning to engage the blockade in four days, after we’ve finished securing Zeltros._ ”

“Fine. I’ll contact you as soon as we are on our way.”

 _“May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan._ ”

He looked up at the expectant Padawans. “We’re leaving in an hour. We have to join our forces with Master Tiin in the Ghost Nebula Sector.” Neither the thrill on Caleb’s face nor the gloom on Ahsoka’s came as a surprise. “Go take a shower so we can bid a proper farewell to our guests.”

“Yes, Master!”, Caleb cried in excitement, zooming towards the ‘fresher. Ahsoka chuckled and Obi-Wan shook his head.

“All considered, knowing as a child someone you have known as a man in his thirties is the weirdest thing in all this time-travel business," she said with a snort after the door slammed closed behind the boy.

“You knew him well?”

“Well enough. We fought together a few times and I stayed with his crew for a while. He was with me when – well, when it happened. Ma – My opponent”, she amended just in time, “had just blinded him. You know, sometimes I wonder what happened to them all.” She closed her eyes as if to storm away those thoughts. “He will become a good man. Anyway, it’s Umbara, isn’t it?”

Something in her eyes made him frown.

“Already been there?” he asked.

“Yes, and it was not pretty," she replied. “But it will be different this time. This is where our war begins.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help having a _very_ bad feeling about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For snippets and star wars material, drop by on tumblr at [The Dune Sea](https://livk-dunesea.tumblr.com)  
> 


	14. Contingencies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the inordinately long wait. I wanted to make it up to you by posting two chapters in a row (this is only the first part of the Umbara arc), but I'm still struggling with part II, so here we are, on the occasion of this fic's first anniversary.  
> Thank you for sticking with me <3

Dusk had once again turned the silver of Dantooine’s whispering grasslands to indigo velvet when Obi-Wan and the Padawans boarded the _Ilum Star_ , a medium sized cargo ship loaded with fresh supplies provided by the local orbital medical center for the battle group now engaged above Zeltros.

The captain of the ship, a tall Ishi Tib female with gentle yellow eyes, had insisted they took her personal quarters; supposedly, the offer had been made as a sign of deference for Obi-Wan’s standing in the Jedi High Council, but Obi-Wan suspected that the real reason behind it was a deeply-rooted – and not unjustified – maternal instinct awakened by the sight of two scrawny teenagers headed for a war zone. Back home, as she had told them, she had a wife and two children who, before the war, used to accompany her on her long, low-risk missions. Her ship was equipped accordingly: sacrificing a small portion of the cargo bay, she had obtained an additional room behind the main cabin. Under any other circumstances, Obi-Wan would have put down the unwarranted honor and claimed for him and his charges nothing more than an empty corner in the cargo bay, but this time one meaningful glance from Ahsoka had prompted him to accept the offer.

The largest room, a living room of sort, was comfortably outfitted: in addition to the two inlet bunks set in the wall to the right of the door, it boasted a small holoprojector in a corner, a table surrounded by four soft poufs and a real, actual small kitchenette with a real actual teapot – and that itself was enough for Obi-Wan to profess undying gratitude to the ship’s captain; on the far end, two door led, respectively, to the private ‘fresher and to the other small room, which only contained two additional bunks. A family picture on a counter, a pot of faux Telosian bachani in a corner and an assortment of old toys and holobooks on a shelf added to the overall coziness, even if a thread of melancholic longing for happier and safer times seemed to linger as an aftertaste in the Force.

After a few hours of travel, Dantooine was now far behind; the departure had been rushed, the farewells bittersweet, even if accompanied by promises of future visits. In their hurry, there had not been time for Ahsoka to disclose her foreknowledge of the upcoming battle. From the pouf on which he was sitting cross-legged, Obi-Wan flicked a sideways glance at her. She was sitting on the lowest bunk, her back propped against the wall, and was clearly pretending to be engrossed in whatever she was reading on her datapad. Her shielding was good, but not good enough to hide her anxiety from a Master of the High Council.

Obi-Wan could tell she wanted to speak with him, and soon, but unfortunately they had now to deal with an unexpected and particularly obstinate obstacle: notwithstanding the late hour, Caleb didn’t seem intentioned to go to bed anytime soon. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, on their part, had no intention of talking about the sensitive subject of Ahsoka’s secret until the boy was fast asleep. In their short time together, Caleb had already proven to be exceptionally perceptive; his sharp wit and inquisitive mindset, whilst gifts in themselves, were becoming, in this peculiar situation, almost a nuisance. Luckily, though, Obi-Wan had plenty of experience in dealing with strong-willed, eager teenagers who liked to poke their small noses where they didn’t really belong.

“Focus, Padawan.”

The boy’s frustration with their exercise echoed clear and pure in the Force; Obi-Wan chuckled to himself.

“I’m trying, Master,” Caleb huffed. “It’s just impossible to focus in hyperspace… the Force seems drunk.”

Obi-Wan lifted an admonitory eyebrow towards his young charge.

“I wonder what Master Yoda would say if he heard you describing the Force in such an undignified fashion.”

“Out of balance the Force seems, mmmmph. Too much to drink it had, yes, yes,” the boy giggled, channeling the impish Yoda familiar to every Jedi youngling.

This drew even Ahsoka out of her musings, her mirth warming the room.

Obi-Wan had to stifle a snort. “And here I thought Anakin was bad. Caleb, we are doing this exercise-”

“I know, I know,” the boy interrupted, eager to show that, cheek notwithstanding, he was a good student. “We are doing this because in battle the Force is always shifting and twisting as well. Master Billaba made me do this same meditation when we were in hyperspace.”

“Yes, I gathered as much,” Obi-Wan said, regarding the boy with increasing fondness. Anakin would forever hold a special place in his heart, but there was no denying he had missed this, the gentle nurturing of a budding soul, with all the human pangs and hardships of growing up. Moreover, the boy was very promising for his age, deeply attuned to the Living Force, and they were similar enough in nature that finding a common ground over which to work had resulted easier than anticipated. He tugged affectionately at the boy’s braid, and Caleb smiled, his eyes still closed. “You are already quite good for your age. You did a very good job. Even if you need to keep that sass in check.”

Caleb grinned playfully, then, without warning, yawned. The slip made him flush.

“Tired already?” Obi-Wan asked gently.

The boy nodded, and Obi-Wan was about to suggest him to go to sleep when Ahsoka’s commlink started beeping.

“It’s Anakin,” she said, rerouting the incoming call to the room’s holoprojector, where Anakin’s face materialized against the plasteel backdrop. A large bruise was spreading under his left eye, ghastly in the blue projection.

 _“Hey, Snips_. _”_

“Ouch, Master,” Ahsoka said, her face twisting in alarm. “What happened to you?”

_“Same old, same old. Nothing to worry about. Yularen tells me they’ll reach Zeltros in about five hours. What about you?”_

Obi-Wan frowned; this wasn’t a courtesy call to a Padawan. He checked his own commlink for a malfunction, but everything was in order. So why in the Galaxy was Anakin calling Ahsoka instead of him to arrange the rendezvous for the fleet? From the look on Ahsoka’s face it was clear that she shared his puzzlement.

“We just left the Hydian Way at Brentaal,” she said. “Our ETA is – let me check – eighteen zero seven Zeltros time today.”

_“Fine. I’m jumping from Naboo now, calculations aren’t complete yet but I’ll be there around zero-eight thirty tomorrow morning.”_

“You are taking your time,” Obi-Wan chimed in.

The projection of Anakin’s face turned towards him, and there was no trace of amusement in the set of his jaw. _“Oh, sorry I’m late, Master,”_ he said flatly. _“I wouldn’t be, weren’t it for your evil grandpa.”_

Obi-Wan flinched. “My – _what?_ ”

The scowl on Anakin’s face deepened into plain aggravation. _“Dooku. He was on Naboo, the old bastard.”_

A cold shiver crept down Obi-Wan’s spine. There had been rumors of Grievous being behind Boss Lyonie’s strange behavior but their intelligence had gotten no hint of Dooku’s involvement. “I had no idea,” he said. “Did he escape?”

Anakin looked away. _“Uhm, well – no. It was me this time._ _One Geonosis was more than enough, thank you.”_

Obi-Wan glared at him; not that he blamed him, of course, but he knew Anakin well enough to understand when he was hiding something. This was hardly the first time he had been facing Dooku after that first, horrific debacle. “Of course. But I think there is more to it, isn’t it? What happened?”

 _“I was outmatched,”_ Anakin snapped, punching the air-conditioning command of his ship with entirely unnecessary strength. _“What would you have me do, stay there to let him chop off my other arm?”_

Anakin’s transitory moments of insouciance were nothing new, but the venom in his voice was more acrid than usual. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes in frustration. “Anakin, I didn’t –”

 _“Spare me, Obi-Wan. I’ll submit the report after we take this dustball,”_ Anakin interrupted him. _“You can read it then with your Council clearance. See you tomorrow. Skywalker out,”_ he growled before his image flickered out of existence, leaving in its stead only a buzz of static.

“What was all that about?”, Caleb asked after two mystified heartbeats.

“You’d better get used to Anakin’s tantrums,” Obi-Wan said, shrugging whit what he hoped was a convincing show of nonchalance. “I’ve tried my best to make him grow out of this bad habit but I’d sooner manage teaching a sarlacc how to fly.” He smiled at the boy and clasped his shoulders. “Nothing to worry about, my young Padawan. Take this as a lesson: not even the best among us are exempt from flaws.”

Caleb didn’t seem convinced. “But isn’t anger one of the emotions that lead to the Dark Side?”

Obi-Wan had to stop himself from rolling his eyes; he had forgotten how fastidiously sharp teenagers could be. “It is,” he admitted. “But I wouldn’t call this anger. I’ve known Anakin for years, Caleb. He’s just annoyed with himself because Dooku escaped again.” He couldn’t help feeling slightly ashamed at how easily lies came to him when he needed to defend Anakin from what were, truthfully, fair accusations. Still, the situation was problematic enough without involving Caleb in the thick web of half-truths that enveloped his relationship with Anakin.

“I understand,” Caleb said, then added, with an impish gleam in his eyes, “even though seems it like it was Master Skywalker the one who escaped.”

Obi-Wan lifted his eyebrows at the impertinence, but couldn’t help chuckling. “Indeed.” He glanced at the chrono, than at Ahsoka, who nudged her head slightly towards Caleb. He nodded almost imperceptibly. “Caleb,” he called, gesturing the boy to come closer. Shyly, Caleb moved towards him, and Obi-Wan clasped the boy’s shoulders in a gentle grip.

“I can sense you’re tired. Shouldn’t you go to sleep?”

Stubbornly, the boy shook his head. “I’m not sleepy. Besides, if I sleep now, I will need to sleep again just when we’re about to reach Zeltron.” The boy averted his gaze. “But I’m too tired for meditation. Can I go in the cockpit? The captain told me she wanted to teach me a few smuggler tricks.”

_Oh, boy._

Obi-Wan smiled. “Of course you can.”

“Thank you, Master!” Caleb replied, then hopped out of the door. As soon as the it had closed behind the boy’s back, Obi-Wan turned to Ahsoka, wearily passing a hand through his hair. “Caleb had a point. What was that all about with Anakin?”

Ahsoka had gotten to her feet and was now dropping herself on the pouf Caleb had just vacated. She looked very tired. “I have no idea,” she said. “I didn’t even see him last time, I came from Coruscant with you on the _Negotiator_.”

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like this.”

“Anakin facing Dooku alone?”

“Partly. I think you know that Anakin harbors a particular animosity towards my – how did he call him? – _charming grandpa_ ,” he said with dark amusement. “And I can’t honestly say that cutting off my Padawan’s arm really endeared him to me either. And Anakin is, well, prone to anger. Add General Grievous and Senator Amidala to the picture…” He sighed. “I just hope they didn’t do anything stupid.”

Ahsoka considered him for a few moments with a calculating gaze. “What does Padmé have to do with this?” she asked, in what Obi-Wan suspected was the most noncommittal tone she could manage.

He grimaced. “Do I really need to tell you?”

At this, Ahsoka snorted. “Perhaps no.”

“I am not as blind as I pretend to be for their sake.”

“I always wondered if you knew.”

Obi-Wan rose to his feet and strode across the room to lean against the opposite wall; he crossed his arms on his chest and regarded her from under his furrowed brow. “Has Anakin ever spoken to you openly about how things stand between them?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, silka beads tinkling behind her lekku. “I just put two and two together. They’re not exactly subtle, even though I’m sure Anakin believes they are.”

Obi-Wan huffed. “Subtlety has never been his forte.”

“That’s quite the understatement,” Ahsoka snorted. “So he never told you.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze flicked sideways. “I wish he had.” He sighed. “I hope he eventually will.”

“You are on the Council,” Ahsoka reminded him.

“I am his best friend,” Obi-Wan replied, more sternly that he had wanted to. “Still, I have to admit that _don’t ask, don’t tell_ is, in our case, probably the best course of action,” he added in a lower tone of voice. “I would never betray his trust, but I can’t deny it would put me in a difficult position with the Council. I just hope they know what they are doing, especially Padmé – if they are doing anything at all, that is. Perhaps they really have been able to go on without trespassing the boundaries set by their respective duties. It’s a difficult road to tread, but a rewarding one in the end.” He tried to keep his voice even as he said this, unwilling to let the unspoken name drift between them – this secret, at least, was his own to share, and the only person he had ever managed to partly share that particular secret with was Anakin himself.

“But even if they are not,” he went on, “Anakin is certainly neither the first nor the last Jedi to break this specific tenet of the Code, and this war has only made these trespasses more common. I can name not a few fellow Jedi who are having affairs – well, affairs more serious than those allowed, anyway – both inside and outside the Order, and the Council is willing to close an eye on them.” Ahsoka looked surprised at this but didn’t comment. “Not that they ever said anything out loud, at least not in my presence, but I suppose that, had they really wanted to put an end to all this, they would have stopped sending Anakin to Naboo right after Geonosis.” He grimaced. “Actually, Yoda once tried to interfere – he sent _me_ to interfere, and I can’t say I’ve really forgiven him for that – but I suppose that now he has just much on his hands already to go after Jedi who are fooling around. And he needs Anakin. Besides, Padmé is a soothing presence in Anakin’s life. He hasn’t grown up like us, in the Temple. He has needs we don’t.” He paused, then amended. “Needs we can resist.” He tipped his head sideways, then an awful thought struck him. He clenched his hands, his blunt nails digging through his flesh. “Ahsoka… What happened to Padmé?”

The Force darkened for a moment and Ahsoka closed her eyes. “Killed,” she said plainly, all emotion constricted in some far corner of her mind. “She was the first political victim of the regime. They made a martyr out of her, said she’d been murdered by some rogue Jedi on Coruscant; and what’s worse is that I’m not even sure it’s a lie. A few Jedi turned during Order 66, the bulk of the future Inquisition – a grim tale for another time, Master –, but I’m willing to bet Sidious ordered one of them to have her killed and blame it on the Jedi. Another push for Anakin to fall.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Dear Force.” Then, unwilling to linger on the thought, any longer, he got to his feet. “Anyway, this is hardly the time to speak about Anakin’s love life.”

Ahsoka nodded, her eyes wide and kind in silent sympathy. “That’s quite right. We have a battle to win and a traitor to unmask.”

 

* * *

  

Obi-Wan listened to her summary of the battle with growing horror; a subtle, burning line of anger uncoiling in his gut.

“I am sorry,” Ahsoka said softly after she had finished telling Obi-Wan what had transpired on Umbara. “I know this must be a shock.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes to release his disgust in the Force. “It’s not a pleasant surprise, but – well, I can hardly call it a shock. You know, he was the saberstaff instructor when I was a Padawan,” he said, his voice low. “He was always making us fight on low power, not training mode. There was always someone who ended up wounded. He was ruthless, a sadist. In the end, even if he was good – the best, perhaps – Cin Drallig had to bar him from the dojo.” He paused, frowning slightly as he used the constellation of dents and scratches on his vambraces as a focus point to let go of the cold fury rising as bile in his throat. “The Council has been keeping tabs on him for years, but we could never find anything incriminating. He always walked the fine line, but never crossed it.”

“Oh, he will now,” Ahsoka said bitterly.

Obi-Wan raised his head and looked at her with what he knew was ill-concealed disappointment. “Why haven’t you told me before?”

It was Ahsoka’s turn to look away. “I wasn’t planning on lying unconscious in the healers’ ward for a week,” she replied meekly.

“You’ve had plenty of time on Dantooine.”

“I know, but remember that we were supposed to have a few days more there. I’m sorry, Master. I just…” She paused, chewing on her lip out of nervousness, and Obi-Wan didn’t press on. “The last seventeen years of my life were so different from this,” she elaborated slowly, turning her gaze back on him. “It was more a matter of waiting than of doing, long years of slowly walking step after step towards a goal which was years away. I didn’t remember how tightly paced the war was – there is no time to breathe, we’re just running down towards the fall. When all of this happened, I was just a Padawan. My only preoccupation was to make it out of the war alive, and keep Anakin alive, and keep alive how many of our men I could. I never read the full report of what happened here, and neither Anakin nor the men really wanted to elaborate. I could never understand why he gave that order – it doesn’t make sense, even from a traitor’s point of view. I can only suppose he was insane enough to think he could come out of that clean. The only thing I know for sure, from something Rex told me, is that Dooku is somehow involved.”

“Dooku would never compromise his standing with Sidious for someone like Krell,” Obi-Wan considered. “They are setting him up.”

“Yes,” Ahsoka agreed. “This must be another of Sidious’ convoluted plans – he’s securing a new disposable pawn and, in the meanwhile, hurting Anakin and shaking his trust in the Jedi. You see why I couldn’t act,” she continued. “It was too risky. Krell is not worth blowing our cover for.”

Obi-Wan looked at her in disbelief. “But there are so many lives at stake.”

Ahsoka winced. “Don’t you think I know that?”

“I hope you have a plan, then.”

Her face changed expression. “Sort of.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes in something that was between frustration and amusement; there was no mistaking that trademark, deceitfully unassuming smirk on her face.

“Anakin’s Padawan through and through, I see.”

Ahsoka offered him a sly grin. “We try to honor our lineage as best as we can.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” They shared this brief respite of familiar playfulness before reverting back to the here and now. “What’s this plan of your, then, pray tell me?”

“Well, I know that evidence of Krell’s betrayal was found in his cabin on his flagship.”

Obi-Wan felt his eyebrows darting upwards. “And how do you know that?”

“Anakin told me,” Ahsoka said. “He was afraid Fleet Command was going to implement surveillance in the Generals’ personal quarters – and I think we can have a very precise idea of why he was afraid of that,” she said, chuckling. “Luckily for him, this proof was some Force-related artifact – possibly a simple holocron – so in the end it all came to nothing. The only lasting effect was another strain on the relationship between the fleet and the Jedi.”

Absent-mindedly, Obi-Wan traced with his fingers the contours of the _Open Circle_ insignia on his vambrace. "And how do you plan on getting this proof?"

“First of all,” Ahsoka said, “I will need two of your most trusted men.”

 

* * *

 

“Why do we always have to get ourselves into trouble?” Boil sighed, side-eyeing his partner in barely-concealed annoyance.

Waxer stretched on his seat and blinked in feigned innocence. “Because the General trusts us, Boil. We are _the best_ , remember?”

“The General trusts _you_ to be the best at getting us both into trouble,” Boil grunted.

As every single one of his brother, Waxer had been bred and trained since he was an embryo to be an unflinching, ruthless warrior. He had looked war and death in the eye without blinking. And yet, the prospect of Commander Cody finding out about their little stunt was, apparently, terrifying enough to make him pale. Ahsoka, moved to pity, rushed to his help.

“You’re both following direct orders, boys, orders coming from the General of the Third System Army himself,” she reassured them. “You’re not getting into trouble for this. At most, General Kenobi is. And myself,” she added with a self-deprecating snort.

“This only makes it worse,” Boil replied. “If we land the General into trouble, Cody’s gonna flay us and roast us like mynocks on Ardenna.”

“I don’t think General Kenobi will inform Cody about this,” Ahsoka said, grinning. “I think he’s more afraid of Cody’s reaction than you are. And, besides, I don’t think he wants to cause his Commander an apoplectic fit.”

Waxer sniggered, but Boil’s frown, reflected into the viewport, didn’t seem to lift. “I still think it is all Waxer’s fault we’re in this mess,” he muttered.

“Well, you have a point, Boil,” Ahsoka said with a sly smile. “I think General Kenobi is still impressed for that time the two of you showed up with a twi’lek youngling in tow – he loves children, the General. There is no quickest way to his soft Jedi heart than a lost child.”

“Kriff you, Wax,” Boil growled, as he steered the small _Nu_ -class transport towards the service hangar of the _Unbent_ , Pong Krell’s flagship and switched the comm on. “Kriff you and your sentimental poodoo.”

“Shut up, Boil, we all know –”

Boil hushed his partner with a friendly smack on the back of his arm. “ _Unbent_ control station, Transport _Nu_ seven four six, inbound for landing.”

 _“Transport Nu- ee g seven four six,_ Unbent _clears you for landing in starboard hangar besh nine.”_

“Copy that.”

Boil piloted the shuttle to a smooth landing, accompanied by the familiar hiss of the repulsorlift.

“Sure you don’t need help with the ship, Commander?” he asked as he got to his feet.

“Oh, no, thank you, Boil,” she replied. “Being General Skywalker’s apprentice gave me an extensive knowledge of the many ways to highjack a ship.”

In all response, Boil merely shook his head. She chuckled one last time, then set to work on the ignition system.

After a few minutes, in perfect sync, Waxer and Boil had just finished unloading all their cargo save the last stack when an angry sizzle and a cascade of sparks signaled the success of Ahsoka’s tampering.

“Done, boys,” she said to the troopers as they re-entered the cockpit. “Just alert the _Unbent_ and the _Negotiator_ that you’ll be stuck here for a while. I’ll be in and out before you know it.”

“Now you should just get in, Commander,” Boil said, before opening the comm channel to alert the hangar crew of both the _Unbent_ and the _Negotiator_ about their problem with the ignition system. Ahsoka nodded and slid inside an empty crate stacked with the remaining cargo on the hovercart.

When Wax and Boil had received official permission to stay docked and attend to their ship’s malfunction Ahsoka felt the hovercart activating; it glided down the boarding ramp and then stabilized horizontally, sliding through the hangar which, judging from the relative silence, seemed to be quite empty. After a few seconds the hovercart stopped, and the two clones started unloading the crates, the one containing Ahsoka last, so that it would be hidden from the rest of the hangar by the stacked pile of supplies, and on its side so she could get out easily.

“This crate wasn’t supposed to be unloaded,” Waxer grunted; it was their code word.

Silently, lifting the lid with the Force, Ahsoka rolled out of the crate, winked at the two clones and crawled towards her target, which was, needless to say, a ventilation shaft. She lifted the grill and sneaked into the dusty duct, pulling the grill back in place with a grimace: she couldn’t fathom how, in a galaxy where something as unnatural as supra-light travel was a mundane occurrence, no one had yet invented a ventilation system that didn’t require such huge pipes, which were just an _invitation_ to sneak in – not that she was complaining, of course. Making the plan had been easy: the mass-produced _Venator_ -class Star Destroyers that left the shipyards of Kuat Drive were identical to one another; once devised which was the best route from the _Negotiator_ ’s hangar to Obi-Wan’s quarter, she just had to replicate it on the _Unbent_. Obi-Wan had summoned a war briefing, and Master Krell had already joined him on the _Negotiator_ ’s bridge; the only risk was being spotted by a clone trooper, but all her years as Fulcrum had made her good, really good at hiding in the Force. Twice she had to crawl above a room full of clones and no one noticed her, or even lifted his head, in either case.

It didn’t take her long to reach Krell’s quarters; reaching out with the Force, she made sure there was no one around, then pulled away the grill and dropped lightly into the small cabin, landing on the floor in a crouch. She jumped to her feet and looked around: the small cabin was just as Obi-Wan’s, the ascetic anonymity of a Jedi Master – bunk, small comm unit and computer terminal, meditation pad and workbench. There was nothing of the sheer personality of Anakin’s quarters, always cramped with droid parts, ship schematics and podracing holomagazines.

This was hardly the first time Ahsoka found herself undertaking an espionage mission, but it was the first time her objective was a Force-wielder – and a Jedi Master. She had become a competent slicer, but she discarded the computer after a short check. Artoo would have certainly come in handy, but, according to the rumors Anakin had related, the proofs of Krell’s betrayal had been found in some Force artifact, and she found no trace of Force tampering in the computer.

She shut it down, frowning, and reached out to search the small room for the telltale vibrations left by Force-enhanced artifacts. She thought she could sense a faint aftertaste of malice still lingering in the air, a shadow lurking beneath the impression of fingers on the computer screen, of knees on the meditation pad, of a body on the bunk.

She could feel that something was amiss, but her consciousness kept sliding over the smooth surface of the disturbance, unable to peer through; at last, something caught her attention, a warm hum coming from under the cot. She doubted this was what she was looking for, but it could be a place to begin with. Retreating from her trance, she ducked under the cot. Hidden behind a crate was small chest; she pulled it out and saw it was unlocked. Once opened, it revealed the presence of a single holocron, whose chime intensified under her attention. Frowning, she took it out; there was hardly any trace of the Dark Side there.

“What are you doing here?”

The soft voice that had haunted her dreams of years jolted her out of her musings. Standing in the doorframe, feet battle-ready and hand on the gleaming hilt of the saber dangling from her belt, was Barriss Offee.

 

* * *

 

“First and foremost, we must take the Capitol.” His face trained in a perfect display of Jedi composure as he tried not to look at Pong Krell, Obi-Wan leant over the holotable to point out the small dot indicating the city on the map of Umbara’s northern continent; a tap on the screen and the image enlarged, showing the settlement and its immediate surroundings. “All the highest caste citizens live in here, and here is were the militia headquarters are, with all major technological research facilities and industries. Cut the planet off from its head, and it will fall in a couple of days. Not clever from a strategical point of view, but this is what happens in a strict caste society. This can be an asset for us, since we won’t have to fight on multiple, distant fronts; on the downside, though, the Capitol is bound to be extremely well-fortified. We must expect strenuous resistance from the locals.” Feeling Pong Krell’s gaze trained on him, Obi-Wan straightened and turned to look at the besalisk Master with polite inquisitiveness. “Do you have any questions, Master Krell?”

The huge Jedi looked unimpressed. “Not yet, Master Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan nodded and resumed his briefing. “From the moment they seceded after the death of Senator Dachi last year, the Umbarans have known that, sooner or later, the Republic would launch an invasion. Their system is too strategically important to be left to the Separatist.” He had to pause to push to the back of his mind the part of him that was mulling over the ethical implications of such a course of action – a part that, unsurprisingly, spoke to him in Satine’s haughty voice. “They have had plenty of time to prepare; we won’t be taking them by surprise. Thanks to the efforts of the Wookies, Kashyyyk is still a secure stronghold on the Republic, and now that Masters Tiin and Krell have taken Zeltros back it will be almost extremely difficult for the Separatists to provide reinforcements to the blockade; the smugglers’ corridor between New Apsolon and Umbara is too unstable for something as large as a dreadnought, and we can blockade its entry easily. This is our chance.” He let his gaze slide around the room, skating over the various shades of focus on the troopers’ faces, from Cody’s somberness to Rex’ intent frown, to _ARC_ trooper Fives’ grimace of barely suppressed energy, and then on Saesee Tiin’s expression of mild concern and, only fleetingly, on Pong Krell, harsh and unreadable. Obi-Wan had to tell himself that the sithly shadow of yellow he saw in his colleague’s eyes was probably no more than a morbid fancy on his part. He averted his gaze. “I will leave the tactical details to each divisions’ briefing. Admiral Block will be in charge of the battle group, with General Offee and Commander Tano leading the bombers and Commander Dume in charge of the fighters squadron. Once we make planetfall with the assaultship, the first group of gunships will land twelve klicks due north from thelanding zone _aurek_ , while the rest of our troops will reach the final destination; one of us will be in charge of the ground assault, while the other two will provide the much-needed air support. Spaceworth gunship will be launched as well to work as a link between the fleet and the troops fighting groundside. Master Tiin has already volunteered to lead the first air support squadron,” he said, glancing at his colleague over his shoulder, “so what remains to be done is to decide how to split tasks between the three of us.”

“I suggest you lead the ground assault towards the Capitol, General Kenobi,” Krell said, his basso voice echoing low over the background buzz of the _Negotiator_ ’s life support system. “Your talent for poliorcetics has been renown since Cristophsis and Ryloth. I volunteer to lead the airstrike with Master Tiin.”

A door hissed open, and a new voice joined the assembly. “So I guess it falls to me to watch your back again, old man.”

Obi-Wan turned to grin at the newcomer; bursting with suppressed energy waiting to be unleashed on the battlefield, Anakin strode into the room, waving to the presents and winking at his former master. Only a shadow of his earlier bad mood lingered about him, an almost imperceptible sizzle of energy darkening the edges of his presence in the Force. And, even if now that he knew where to look, Obi-Wan could sense the claws of darkness already sunken in his best friend’s soul, he could not bring himself to really contemplate the image of a golden-eyed Anakin as something that could become real, whether in this universe or in another. This wouldn't happen, not as long as he lived.

 

* * *

 

Barriss and Ahsoka faced each other for a few, tense seconds, the Force frozen around them, apparently as stunned as they were. Oblivious to everything, and somewhat out of place, the holocron kept chiming softly in Ahsoka’s hand.

“What are you doing here?” Barriss asked again, her fingers steady on the hilt of her ‘saber.

Cursing herself inwardly for her stupidity and still kneeling on the floor, Ahsoka slowly lifted her hands above her head, keeping the holocron in open view.

“I am not going to attack you, Barriss,” she said gently. “Please, take your hand off your saber. I can explain.” She didn’t yet know how, but there was little doubt she’d have to.

Barriss didn’t stand down; instead, her eyes narrowed further as they darted towards the small cubic device Ahsoka was holding. “Really?” Her soft voice was colder than Ahsoka remembered ever hearing it. Even at her trial, Barriss had spoken with the heat of passion rather than in cold anger. “You are stealing holocrons, Ahsoka?”

Deliberately, Ahsoka opened her fingers and let the device float between them. “Well, not really, no. I’m just trying to dispel a few suspicions.”

A spike of interest suddenly flared in the Force, and Barriss stretched out her hand to grab the holocron; Ahsoka was glad to see it was the hand that had been resting on the saber’s hilt. Barriss’ eyes, however, were still fixed upon Ahsoka’s hands, wary of her every movement. “Suspicions about what?”

This turn of events was unfortunate, and yet Ahsoka could sense a spark of hope, an unexpected path unfolding before her eyes and wandering far away into the shroud of an unreadable future. It was what Master Windu would have called a shatterpoint. A minor one, perhaps, but Ahsoka had learnt how even the smallest change could affect millions – and, even if it didn’t, wasn’t the saving of a single soul a triumph of its own anyway? In the face of unpredictable outcomes, for all her life, both as a Jedi and after, Ahsoka had relied on her instinct – on the Force – to choose which path to thread; this time was no different. She took a deep breath and leapt. “I will tell you, but I need you to close the door. I can’t be discovered. And we don’t have much time.”

A true Padawan of Luminara Unduli’s, Barriss hesitated. “You know I should report you to Master Krell immediately, Ahsoka.”

“I know. But I think you know I’d never break into a Jedi Master’s cabin without a very good reason.”

“Does Master Kenobi know you are here?” Barriss asked suspiciously.

From a certain point of view he had, actually; Ahsoka only hoped he would forgive her for using his position as leverage like this. “Yes,” she said. “You know, it wasn’t like he could do it himself, sneaking in here through the ventilation ducts.” Actually, that wasn’t quite true, since Ahsoka knew better then most just how much of his life Obi-Wan had spent doing just that.

Barriss seemed to mollify and shut the door behind her with a swift movement of her hand, and locked it for good measure. “So, what is this about?” she asked. “If you are allowed to tell me, of course.”

Ahsoka considered her briefly, then nodded and, every movement slowly and deliberate to show her good will, she shifted to a crossed-leg position, folding her hands in her lap. “Don’t you think there’s something off with General Krell?”

Barriss regarded her warily. “There is something off with all of this, Ahsoka. We have Padawans sneaking into Masters’ rooms, and we have peacekeepers leading an army of manufactured slaves to stage an invasion of a sovereign system.”

Ahsoka sighed. Misguided as she had been in her previous life, Barriss had a point, but this was most definitely not the time. “Barriss, I’m not here to talk politics. We can do that anytime, just not right now. Right now there are lives at stake, and I hope you’ll agree with me that this takes precedence on political idealism.”

Barriss winced, so hard it made Ahsoka wonder if she was already harboring terroristic ideas; the mere thought made her nauseous. “I… Yes, I understand.” Barriss bit her lip, frowning, then lowered herself to sit in front of Ahsoka, her hands folded in her sleeves. “I know what you mean regarding Master Krell. I’ve worked with him for the past three weeks here on Zeltros. A few Masters in the Council think I’ve been knighted too early, but Master Unduli has already taken on another Padawan, so they assigned me to Krell as a support. You know, I have some training in healing, and with Krell’s casualty rate the Council thought his men would benefit from my presence.” She paused, uneasy, tugging at the hem of her sleeve.

“And?” Ahsoka prompted her.

“And he is… how to say it? Callous. Unnecessarily so.” She blinked. “Cruel.”  

“Evil,” Ahsoka supplied flatly, and Barriss jerked her head up in shock.

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you thought it,” Ahsoka said, and when Barriss didn’t reply she gestured towards the small holocrons behind her back.

“And you think that you’ll find a proof in that holocron?”

Ahsoka nodded, and Barriss, after another brief hesitation, handed her the holocron. Taking two deep breaths to center herself, Ahsoka focused her attention on the hexahedral device; a subtle nudge and it opened, revealing the blue figure of an Umbaran Jedi dressed with a variant of the Order’s uniform which has passed out of fashion about a century ago.

“ _Umbaran society is divided in one hundred and sixty-three castes_ ,” the Master started explaining. _“Of these, one hundred and thirty comprise the laborers. They live in the vast plans beyond the Capitol’s ridge in the northern continent and in the marshes of the southern continent. The remaining thirty-three are equally divided between engineers, warriors and priests; from the latters’ ranks, the Supreme Ruler of the Umbarans is chosen, and so is their representative on the Galactic Senate.”_

“This doesn’t seem very dark to me,” Barriss said over the unknown Jedi’s voice, raising her eyebrows in a perplexed line.

“Most definitely not,” Ahsoka had to dryly admit. “Wait a moment.”

She deepened her perception, letting the Force flow unrestrained between herself and the holocron. At first, she felt nothing, just the usual soft chime, almost imperceptible on the surface. She floated on the slow tide without letting her consciousness drift away, following the flow but aware of the fault lines – and _there_ it was, a disturbance so small it was almost impossible to sense, the slightest ripple in a ripple, a single broken thread. “Here,” she whispered. “But it’s so small.” She tried to grasp the thread to pull it apart, but it slipped through her perception. She tried again, and again it slid away. “Shut up, you,” she growled at the protracted lecture on Umbaran internal politics. She tried again, and nothing. “I can’t take hold of it,” she snapped in frustration.

“Let me try,” Barriss murmured, then closed her eyes.

Ahsoka felt her reach out into the Force. She tried to fall into the trance to, matching her breathing pattern to hers, but Barriss pulled away from the swift mental contact, her shields rising like seawater, hiding the shifting sands of her thoughts under a deep blue tide. Respectfully, Ahsoka retreated, simply waiting. A glance at her chrono told her she still had less than a hour.

“There,” Barriss said, leaping to her feet and tightening her mouth in a stern line. “It’s in the holocron, but you need a key.” Without hesitation, she moved towards the computer terminal, her small hand sliding deftly behind it, in the tight space between the screen and the wall. When she drew her hand back, there was a small memory crystal clutched between her fingers.

“How?” Ahsoka asked, bewildered. She had sensed nothing.

Barriss looked at her for a moment, apparently petrified. Then, without warning, she dropped to her knees, shaking, without a sound. Frightened, Ahsoka leant towards her, but even before she could reach her, Barriss, small, shy, reserved Barriss had flung herself into her arms, clutching at the hem of her tunic as if it were her only anchor in a storming sea.

“Help me, Ahsoka," she cried against her collarbone. "I am dark."

 

* * *

 

The war briefing was coming to an end; the clone commanders were still at attention while Saesee Tiin and Pong Krell defined the final details for the air support; Anakin, his body still sore from the beating he’d taken at the hands of the MagnaGuards and the subsequent amount of Force Lightning courtesy of Count Dooku, had since long stopped listening. Flicking his gaze towards Obi-Wan, he noted that his old Master looked uncharacteristically distracted as well. He moved towards him, hoping that some lazy small talk and easy banter could at least ease his lingering rage and disappointment, and leant his back against the holotable, crossing his arms on his chest. “So, where is my Padawan?”

Obi-Wan looked up at him, startled. He had been so absorbed in his own thoughts he hadn’t felt – or heard – him approaching.

“Ahsoka? She’s running an errand for me.”

Anakin rose his eyebrows quizzically.

“Wait and you’ll see,” Obi-Wan offered with a shrug, and Anakin bit back a snippy retort; he was in no mood for a fight, but he was in no mood for dealing with a moody Obi-Wan either. _So long for small talk_ , he thought and turned abruptly to leave, but the movement strained a muscle in his still swollen shin. He tried to hide his wince, but he already knew that nothing could escape Obi-Wan’s fastidious attentiveness.

“Are you hurt?” Obi-Wan asked as he reached out to him, his voice tinged with worry.

Anakin rebuffed the proffered help. “It’s nothing, just a bruise,” he murmured, keeping his voice low to avoid being overheard.

Apparently, Obi-Wan wouldn’t be so easily convinced. “Anakin. I have never seen you flinch for a bruise, and I’ve seen you dealing with a vast array of injures on a daily basis since you were nine.”

Anakin couldn’t help smiling at this. “Don’t worry, Master, I promise you, I’m not hurt.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows in a line that promised war.

"I see. And pray tell me, what is that big blue thing on your face? A fashion statement to match with your scar?"

So war it was. "Yeah. Want one to match?"

Something strange happened behind Obi-Wan's eyes; Anakin had no idea what that was, but he didn't like it. "Don't shut me out, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, his voice suddenly gentle, gentler than Anakin had heard it in years. 

 _Damn you, old man._ “I’m just tired.”

Across their bond he felt something snap in Obi-Wan, and before he could even fathom what that was, Obi-Wan had grabbed his arm and was dragging him away from the war briefing, steering him towards an empty control room nearby as he used to do when he had to drag a teenage Anakin out of illegal swoop-races in the Coruscanti underbelly.

“Ehi!” Anakin protested, trying to shrug him off without particular success, too stunned to be angry.

Obi-Wan waved the door closed behind them let Anakin go, then crossed his arms on his chest, glaring at him from under his furrowed brow.

“Just so you know, I am not going to put up with this anymore,” he said, again in that surprisingly gentle tone, completely at odds with the scowl on his face. Somehow, it hurt.

“Put up with _what_ , exactly?” Anakin retorted, hiding his painful confusion behind a snarl. “With me being a grown-ass man who can take care of himself?”

“No, with you shutting me out of what troubles you. With you lying straight to my face rather than just telling me you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Obi-Wan, I’m not…”

“No!” Obi-Wan snapped. “Not this Padawan _poodoo_ anymore, Anakin. I _know_ that, believe me, I do. Just try figure for a moment: if Ahsoka were, say, twenty-two years old and a Knight already, and you knew she’d been facing Dooku and then saw her limping, sporting bruise larger than a meiloroon and with a temper to match a rabid rancor, wouldn’t you want her to tell you what happened? Wouldn’t you want to help her? Wouldn’t you be angry – yes, Anakin, angry – if she didn’t even bother to come up with a plausible lie?”

“Well, for one I hope that Dooku will be rotting in the ninth Sith hell long before Ahsoka turns twenty,” Anakin growled, managing to elicit a smirk from Obi-Wan.

“So do I, but that’s beyond the point.”

“Ok, ok,” Anakin conceded, lifting his hands in defeat. “I… guess you’re right.”

Obi-Wan clasped his shoulders, squeezing; when their eyes met, Anakin almost recoiled. There was something unsettling there, a tangle of emotions smoldering in the depths of Obi-Wan’s eyes. It looked dangerous. Frightening. It looked incredibly human.

“You are my friend, Anakin. My best friend. I am not concerned because I think you are my responsibility, or because years ago you were my Padawan or because of whatever  _poodoo_ you are telling yourself” Obi-Wan said sternly, then softened. “I am concerned because I care.”

Anakin blinked, temporarily too dumbstruck to speak. Even if he used to tell himself that Obi-Wan was the perfect example of the unemotional Jedi – something Anakin wanted to believe especially when, for one reason or another, he was angry at his former Master – if he had to be sincere he had always known that Obi-Wan was merely very good at hiding his own feelings, and had always supposed it was partly due to the fact that Obi-Wan himself was sometimes scared by the depth of those feelings. That said, and probably for the same reason, Obi-Wan was unquestionably reticent when it came to voicing those feelings, even by Jedi standards. This outburst was unbelievably out of character.

“I… I know,” Anakin said at last, dropping his gaze to study the tip of his boots. He couldn’t deny he was moved by Obi-Wan’s earnestness, but his reticence to speak about what had happened on Naboo still stood: while he was fairly certain that no one on Naboo would have had something against the prisoner exchange – Anakin was still regarded as a planetary hero for his exploits during the Trade Federation invasion – there was no doubt that the Galaxy wouldn’t take it as kindly should the truth come out; moreover, such a scandal could easily lead to the exposure of his secret wedding, and that was something he could not afford to let happen. “It’s just that… I really don’t want to talk about it, Obi-Wan. I can’t. It’s a Naboo internal affair, I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

Obi-Wan’s face dropped and Anakin felt a creeping sense of guilt coiling in the pit of his stomach. For a moment neither of them spoke, then Obi-Wan nodded. “I understand if you can't tell me,” he said. “Still, I want you to know that, should you need someone to speak to, I am here. Not as your Master, certainly not as a Councilor… not even as a Jedi. As a friend.”

They were staring awkwardly at each other, Anakin trying to rake his brain to find something to say to this oddly emotional and open Obi-Wan, when mercifully a comlink started to beep.

“Ah, it’s Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan said, his brow drawn in a tight line as he accepted the incoming call.

_“Mission accomplished, Master. I’m heading for the bridges right now.”_

“Very well. Meet us in the control room on the starboard bridge.” He tapped the comlink off, straightened his back and looked at Anakin. “Come on, Anakin. I will need your help for this.”

Anakin blinked. “This… what?”

Obi-Wan smirked. “Stopping the bad guy and saving the day, what else?”

* * *

 

Momentarily pushing all thoughts of Anakin aside, Obi-Wan walked out of the maintenance room into the hallway. He waited for Anakin to catch up to him and together they strode towards the control room at the end of the corridor. The lingering tension left behind by their conversation and Obi-Wan’s own tension for the upcoming confrontation must have echoed in the Force when they entered the room, for both Master Krell and Master Tiin stopped speaking to stare at them.

“Gentlemen,” Obi-Wan said in his smooth Negotiator tone. “I’m afraid there has been a… situation. Lieutenants, Commanders, would you please leave us for a moment? It’s Jedi business.”

With a choir of _Sir, yes Sir_ the troopers left the control room; Saesee Tiin, long used to Obi-Wan’s sneaky ways, looked mildly interested, while Pong Krell’s face remained stony.

When even Cody had retired, discretely sealing the blast doors behind him, Krell crossed two of his four arms on his chest and two behind his back.

“Well? What’s going on, Kenobi?"

 _It is_ Master _Kenobi for you, Krell_ , _even if you were a Master already when I was but a child_ , Obi-Wan thought, and crafted his face into the pettiest lopsided smile in his collection.

“Oh, you shall see, Master Krell,” he said, all biting politeness. “We are just waiting for Padawan Tano to join us.”

“I am here, Master,” Ahsoka said, walking into the room with her large robes on, looking shaken and pale. He felt his eyes widen with worry, but she shot him a warning gaze, so he just stuck with their plan.

“What do you have for us, Padawan?” he asked.

Ahsoka moved towards the center of the room and stopped beside Anakin, who greeted her with an affectionate squeeze on her arm; Obi-Wan, in the meantime, moved unassumingly to stand right behind Krell, whose attention was entirely focused on Ahsoka.

“I found something, and I thought you might find it interesting, Masters,” she said, fumbling with something behind the cover of her large cloak. A soft chime, and she slid her right hand out of her robes, revealing a holocron in it.

A cloaked figure stood over the hexahedron; its face was completely shadowed, but no Jedi would have mistaken Count Dooku’s elegant profile.

“I wouldn’t move, if I were you, Master Krell,” Obi-Wan said pleasantly, the hilt of his lightsaber pressed against the traitor’s back, the large manacles he had been keeping in his robes deftly closing around the two lower arms Krell had – most conveniently – kept crossed behind his back. Obi-Wam saw Saesee registering his movement, but he knew his fellow Councilor trusted him to know what he was doing. Krell, apparently, was too taken aback to react with his other pair of hands – or was wise enough to see that, notwithstanding his size, he was definitely outmatched. Anakin, dumbstruck, was gaping at Dooku’s image.

 _“Master Krell,”_ the hologram’s haughty voice said, _“I commend your insight for your decision to join me and my project and forsake the narrow views of the Jedi. I assure you, our combined action will lead our galaxy to a new order, an age of renewed peace and prosperity – and you will be most handsomely rewarded for the role you will play in it. Our intelligence informed me that General Skywalker will be recalled to Coruscant before local nightfall; make sure you are put in charge of his men. I will provide Kenobi with leaked intelligence concerning the airbase west of the Capitol; he will request you to take it. In the third sublevel of the base there is a secret weapon factory - a bioweapon lab. We have reliable inside information regarding a vault with newly engineered bio-bolts. They release a cloud of toxic gas charged with bacteria, each bolt covering a square mile. Take them, then join Kenobi in the assault to the capitol. When the final battle is underway, load one of your cannons with the bio-bolts. Kill Kenobi, kill the clones and target as many Umbarans as you can with the toxins. With their upper castes decimated, the Umbarans will not be able to stop us from taking possession of their technological secrets. Besides, we will blame the use of bioweapons on the Republic, and your sides switch will be seen as a moral statement against the decline of the Jedi Order. Prove your commitment to my cause and I will take you as my apprentice and teach you the ways of the Sith.”_

Before the holomessage had ended, Krell’s saberstaffs were in Master Tiin’s hands and the tip of Anakin’s blue blade was mere millimeters from his throat, near enough that Obi-Wan, his own weapon still pressed against the General’s back, could smell a faint trace of burnt flesh.

“You traitorous _scum_ ,” Anakin snarled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barriss Offee is canonically present at the battle of Umbara. She can be seen leading the bombers squadron with Ahsoka in the intro of S04E07 "Darkness on Umbara".  
> Her healing abilities are a legacy from her old EU character.


	15. Good soldiers follow orders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now officially a PhD, I finally found the time to write the chapter I've been wanting to write for a year. Hope you enjoy!  
> Plus, I had forgotten, I made a small edit in the first chapter for continuity sake: now Ahsoka doesn't pull the temple down on her and Vader but stabs the floor with her sabers.

The Galactic Senate was, after a fashion, the brain of the Republic, the place where ideas were weighted and decisions made. If one looked at it with this mindset, the office of the Supreme Chancellor could be considered the heart itself of the Republic.

It was from this office that Chancellors gave their inauguration speeches and their yearly good wishes to the Galaxy on Life Day, and it was in this office that their daily routine was recorded, to show the people of the Republic that, after all, the Supreme Chancellor was nothing more than a normal man with an unusually important job.

Now, on that same desk behind which the Galaxy had become used to see the grandfatherly face of Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine of Naboo, the hooded holoimage of Count Dooku, secretly Sith Lord Darth Tyranus and leader of the Confederation of Independent Systems, the Republic’s greatest enemy, was kneeling before his Master.

 _“It must have been that meddling Kenobi,”_ Dooku was saying, his sharp features clearly showing his aggravation. _“Or, perhaps, suspicious clones. I made sure that only a Force User open to the use of the Dark Side could unlock that holocron. They can’t possibly have learnt of Krell’s betrayal from it.”_

Darth Sidious steepled his fingers under his chin. “I wouldn’t dismiss this possibility entirely, Tyranus.”

A frown creased Dooku’s forehead. _“Who? Skywalker had just joined the fleet when Krell’s signal went dead; Kenobi wouldn’t dare touching the Dark Side for such a trifle. Neither Skywalker’s apprentice or Kenobi’s new pet are powerful enough. This leaves out Barriss Offee, but she is a weak nonentity.”_

Sidious favored him a look of mild disdain. “Do not underestimate children toying with Darkness, my apprentice. This scenario could open unforeseen possibilities for the future. But I agree that, for the moment, we should focus on the immediate danger posed by this misstep. We must get our hands on Umbaran technology. It might be of some value to perfect the plans of our new weapon.”

Sidious knew that Dooku was still too imbued with Jedi nonsense about the delicate balance inherent to kyber crystals to be completely open to Sidious’ plan of using Umbaran technology for their pet project, but apparently he had grown wise enough not to voice his misgivings. _“How do you suggest we proceed, then?”_

“We had contingencies for this situation already, Count.”

This time, Dooku didn’t mask his skepticism. _“So you still plan on recalling Skywalker?”_

“It is for the best. The boy is a loose cannon, and I will see he overloads at the right moment. He is of more use to us alive than dead.”

 _“He has become a nuisance.”_ Dooku wasn’t even trying to hide his annoyance.

Sidious had the distinct impression that his old apprentice wasn’t having an easy time in his duels against Skywalker as he had on Geonosis. Good.

He smiled under his hood. “Indeed. And he will be even more a nuisance for the Jedi than he is for us.”

_“If he learns about Krell’s betrayal, he will not leave his men willingly.”_

Sidious’ smile grew wider. “Not willingly, perhaps, but he will leave them. I need that footage your droids took during the prisoners’ exchange on Naboo.”

Dooku looked alarmed. _“Why is that?”_

“Naboo Royal Intelligence will intercept an encrypted transmission sending that footage offworld. If knowledge of what transpires on Naboo leaks, the Advisory Council will force Queen Neeyutnee to abdicate. I know for certain she did not consult them when she agreed to the prisoners exchange – they would never have agreed. Only the Gungans knew. The Queen will ask me for help in preventing that leak from happening, and I will ask Master Skywalker to return to Coruscant in order to film faked footage ready to be used should the leak occur.”

 _“The CIS Senate would not be happy to know about the exchange either, nor about the role you made me play in it,”_ Dooku protested. _“Many of them would gladly see Grievous deactivated.”_

Sidious waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, the leak will not occur. We only need to vent the possibility to have Skywalker return to Coruscant immediately. Once he knows what that’s about, he will hurry back.”

Dooku’s eyes widened in understanding. _“Because of the possible repercussions on Senator Amidala’s standing in the Senate.”_

Sidious nodded with dark amusement. “Indeed. And because he is terrified at the idea that the Jedi find out about his little _attachment_.”

The Count’s lips stretched, baring his teeth in a feral smile. _“And how would Skywalker take it, say, if once he left them behind, either his Master or his Apprentice were to die in the battle?”_

“Not well, Darth Tyranus,” Darth Sidious said. It was not necessary to act against them yet, but if they were to met an untimely end on Umbara he would not complain. “Not well. And he would blame the debacle on the Order’s rules on attachment, I am quite sure. Make sure to tell Pong Krell you wish to see those two dead.”

 

* * *

 

The battle to disrupt the Separatist blockade on Umbara had been short and brutal. Ahsoka, Barriss and Caleb had spearheaded the Republic’s fighters squadrons deep into enemy lines among unrelenting laserfire, clearing a path for the huge _Acclamator_ -class assault ship to make planetfall.

Battle-wise, it had been a success, but the cost in terms of lives had been high.

The three star-Destroyers and the smaller ships that made up the Republic battle group were now stationed on the two sides of the exit point for the small hyperspace corridor that stretched from New Apsolon to Umbara, so that any incoming enemy ship reverting to realspace would be caught in their crossfire. Should such reinforcements arrive, the Republic ships wouldn’t be able to hold on for long; their only hope rested on the fact that, if Republic intelligence was on point, Separatist forces were almost spread as thin as theirs.

The Separatist ships had suffered great losses as well, an entire dreadnaught included, and had now withdrawn to the other side of the battlefield, closer to the shadowy planet, to lick their wounds safe in the knowledge that the Republic didn’t have the numbers to launch a second full frontal attack.

The firefight had thus morphed into a nerve-wracking confrontation of wills, the two flotillas just glaring at each other from across debris-littered dead space, daring the other to make the first move; they all knew that the real battle for Umbara was the one fought on the ground, and neither wished to risk total annihilation on a senseless confrontation. Tension ran thick across the starlit darkness of space.

Since the end of the battle, Ahsoka had been leading her squadron on interminable sweeps to recon on enemy movements across the battlefield; an uneventful routine, save for the occasional calls to the retrieval team anytime they spotted the body of a dead clone drifting amidst the debris. Trying not to think about how many men they had lost, Ahsoka was sprinting her _Aethersprite_ fighter in a corkscrew dive along the starboard side of the Unbent, a showy maneuver whose only utility was to give an outlet to her tension, when a blue dot appeared on her scanners, and Anakin’s presence lit up in the Force. It was the sign she’d been waiting for; a strong sense of _deja-vu_ took hold of her.

“Boys, a space-worth gunship is coming from the planet,” she alerted her squad. Her gaze searched beyond enemy lines for the incoming ship, and there he was, rising from the planet on the starboard side of the Separatist fleet, far enough to be out of range from the nearest dreadnaught’s cannons but not enough to have a real head start on the fighters the Separatists would inevitably launch. There was nothing else Anakin could have done: the gunship was an advanced, space-worth model, but its was considerably less responsive than a starfighter, and there was only so much it could do in open combat. The trajectory he had picked was the only one that would permit Ahsoka and her fighters to reach him before the Separatists could blow him out of the sky.

_“Yeah, we’re picking the signal as well.”_

“Form up behind me. Let’s circle the Seppies to escort it back to the fleet.”

_“Copy that.”_

The fighters broke their recon formation and reformed behind her in attack position, following her lead as she swung right, giving full power to her thrusters. Right in that moment, a swarm of droid fighters erupted from the dreadnaught closer to the solitary gunship.

Ahsoka could only hope her Master’s reckless maneuver would work this time as it had last time around. It was unnerving, living in the hope that the past would repeat itself only when it suited her purpose.

 _“Blue Leader, is that General Skywalker piloting?”_ Blue Three asked over the squadron comm.

“Positive.”

_“Only he would be so bold.”_

Ahsoka snorted. “Indeed. Let’s beat those droids to the gunship or they’ll blast him to pieces.”

_“We’re on it.”_

She toggled her comm frequency to Barriss’, who was leading the other recon squad. Barriss, another worry for another day. Except from the few words of comfort Ahsoka had offered her in Krell’s rooms on the _Unbent_ , there hadn’t been time for them to really talk about Barriss’ perceived fall. She had admitted that the worst she’d done had been nurturing seditious thoughts against the Order; Ahsoka had no way of knowing whether that meant she was already involved with the terrorist organization of which Letta Turmond was part. She only knew she would have to go to the bottom of this before returning to Coruscant and being packed off to the next mission.

“Barriss, here’s Ahsoka,” she said, pushing her worries in a far corner of her mind and focusing on the matter at hand – which was already complicated enough. “A gunship is coming from the planet, I can sense Anakin’s on it. Keep an eye out for a Sep ambush on the ships while I escort him back to the _Resolute_ , will you?”

 _“Of course_.”

“Thanks.”

Blue Squadron darted in a diagonal dive across the vast expanse of space between the two flotillas, maintaining an angle that would keep them reasonably safe from the capital ships’ guns, at least until they were close enough to the incoming gunship. The droid fighters had a distinct head start on them and were already closing around Anakin, whose piloting was becoming more daring by the second.

 _“Capital ships ’re not even trying to fire on us,”_ Blue Two observed. _“Must be some sort of trap.”_

 _“Nah.”_ It was Blue Nine’s voice; he was the tactical mind of the squadron. _“Their cannons are still too hot, they won’t risk overloading them or losing too many fighters over a single gunship.”_

 _“You have a point,”_ Blue Two conceded.

“Focus on the fighters,” Ahsoka said, then turned off the squadron’s comm for a moment. “Arseven, check the firing system’s all green, will you?”

Her astromech chirped back happily.

“Oh, please, don’t be so _giddy_ , it’s a real firefight we’re going in, not some kind of game.”

He was definitely spending too much time with Artoo.

In the meantime, the vulture droids were trying to look almost convincing in their attack, and the gunship was now steering erratically to avoid their fire; Ahsoka could almost hear Anakin say _I wish I could make this thing spin_. The thought made her smile.

To a non-Sensitive observer, it would have looked like a fight on impossible odds, but Ahsoka’s Force-enhanced senses told her that Anakin had the situation tightly under control. Her men were silent on the intercom as they closed the last stretch of space between them and the droid fighters, dodging to avoid the laser now fired by the Separatist dreadnaught stationed on the starboard side of the flotilla.

_“Snips, kind of you to come picking me up.”_

Ahsoka fired her guns before answering, and the _Vulture_ closer to the gunship burst into flames before exploding in a blinding blast.

“You are crazy, Master.”

 _“Didn’t have much choice.”_ The gunship veered sideways, angled so steeply it must have really been uncomfortable for the men she could sense in the hold. _“Next time I’ll bring my starfighter with me – just can’t believe they haven’t invented hyperspace-capable gunships yet.”_

A couple of laser bursts came too close to the gunship for comfort.

“Stop talking and focus on piloting, please.” Another _vulture_ fell under her fire. “I can’t kick your back in the dojo if they blow you to smithereens.”

_“Hey! I hope we’re not on the squadron chat!”_

A cry of distress from one of her men echoed in her cockpit.

_“They’re on me.”_

“Hold on, Blue Six, coming there.”

She sent her fighter plummeting down in a vertical dive, then soared again right under the droid fighter that was closing on Blue Six. Laserfire erupted from her guns and hit the underbelly of the enemy ship, sending it spinning out of control and finally crashing against the hull of the dreadnaught. Blue Six was still thanking her for the assist when another yell over the intercom sent a jolt of dread down her spine. She didn’t even have the time to revert her thrusters before Blue Three burst into flames, its dot disappearing from her scanners. Muffled curses filled the comm, Anakin’s among them.

The gunship slammed forward, breaking the droids’ line; recklessly, Anakin must have diverted all auxiliary power from the shields to the thrusters. Without needing to be told, the fighters formed in defensive position around him.

 _“Boys, let’s get out of here,”_ Anakin growled.

“I’ll have your back, Master,” Ahsoka said, maneuvering her fighter into the rear of the formation.

“Arseven, take care of the rear cannons.”

Arseeven beeped excitedly, but his happiness was cut short: as soon as Blue Squadron got clear of the dreadnaught, the droid fighters stopped following them, or even firing on them.

 _“They aren’t following.”_ Anakin sounded surprised. _“Why is that?”_

“Why lose fighters for a single gunship?”

_“Hey, I’m in that gunship! I’m worth a few vulture droids!”_

“They don’t know that, Master. If they knew it was you we would have all two dreadnoughts firing on us right now.”

 _“This doesn’t make any sense,”_ Anakin said again, his voice thoughtful. _“Those tactical droids they have are dumber than our cleaning units at the Temple.”_

Ahsoka was about to assert her agreement when, at last, understanding dawned upon her. Of course. She knew that the order to recall Anakin had been issued from the Chancellor’s Office; it was clear that Palpatine wanted his pupil nowhere near Pong Krell and his murderous plot. It was for this reason, she now understood, that Anakin’s daring return to the fleet had succeeded, this time and last time around. Ahsoka wondered what kind of contorted lies Darth Sidious could have told his puppet Dooku to convince him not to just have Anakin shot down.

“We’ll escort you to the Resolute,” she said from behind gritted teeth.

_“Get me Barriss there as well, Ahsoka.”_

Frowning, Ahsoka toggled on Barriss’ frequency.

“Barriss, how’s the situation over there?”

_“All clear.”_

“Good. Come meet us in the _Resolute_ port hangar.”

_“I’ll be there.”_

“You boys stay in the air. Blue Two, you’ll take the lead until I’m back.”

_“Copy that, Blue Leader.”_

As soon as they reached the _Resolute,_ Ahsoka broke formation with a loop, followed shortly after by the less agile gunship. In the corner of her eye she saw Barriss’ _Aethersprite_ mirroring her move and flanking her. The two fighters joined their courses right before entering the hangar _,_ where a small bay had been unshielded for their arrival. Their smooth landing was executed with the flawless synchrony only two minds deeply attuned to the Force could achieve, a connection Ahsoka had sorely missed in all her years in exile.

She vaulted out of the open canopy of her fighter and landed lightly on her feet, while Barriss, more elegantly and offhandedly, merely slid down the flank of her ship, accompanied by the rustle of her gown’s heavy fabric.

The gunship landed heavily in the center of the hangar, and its doors slid open to reveal a half dozen medical cots secured with metal restraint to the ship’s wall; Anakin must have brought back to the fleet the most gravely injured of his men. He must also have already alerted the _Resolute_ , because two navy medics were already darting into the bay, followed by a small retinue of medical droids. Barriss and Ahsoka took a few steps towards the cockpit of the gunship to give the medics room to work, just in time to see Anakin finishing powering down the engines and jumping out.

Before Ahsoka could even greet him, Artoo rolled towards him at full speed; Anakin must have summoned him while still on the gunship.

“Buddy, prep my fighter and the hyper-ring, we’re leaving as soon as it’s ready,” Anakin said, kneeling before his astromech and patting him on his dome.

Artoo warbled hurriedly in response, his tone alarmingly human and clearly worried.

“What does it mean, twenty minutes?” Anakin scowled. “Ah, of course, hyper-ring’s not recharged. _Chuba_. Well, try your best, I want to get going as soon as I can.”

Artoo rolled away, still beeping, and Ahsoka was quite sure that, had he had a mobile dome, he would have been shaking it.

Anakin, visibly aggravated, turned towards them. “Barriss, Ahsoka.” He was nervously tapping his fingers on the smooth hilt of his lightsaber. “Follow me.”

He led them into a secluded maintenance room just across the hangar. “I’ve been recalled to Coruscant, I’m leaving as soon as the blasted hyper-rings are ready,” he said, waving the door closed behind them as he dropped his weight on a plasteel crate full or rations and tipped his head back to let it rest against the wall. His hair was mussed from the battle, thin beads of sweat still dripping on his forehead. “I left Rex in charge of the men, but they need a Jedi down there.” He bit his lips, then looked directly at Barriss. “I’m putting you in charge of my men, Barriss. Ahsoka will stay here to lead the fighters.”

He didn’t look particularly happy: he probably knew that Barriss had never led an entire legion before. Ahsoka turned towards her friend, but her encouraging smile died on her lips.

Barriss had visibly paled; her lips were trembling, and so were her hands. Instinctively, she took a step backwards. “I am honored by your trust, Master Skywalker,” she said slowly, as if she was finding it extremely difficult to speak, “but I think Ahsoka would be a better choice to lead your men. She knows them far better than I do.”

Anakin nodded. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he looked extremely tired. “You’re a Knight and she’s not,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t put her in charge of a legion if there’s a Knight available. You know the rules.”

“You have a name for breaking them when the situation calls for it.”

Ahsoka gaped at her: Barriss turning to the Dark Side was almost more understandable than Barriss being disrespectful, even if in such a subtle way. Judging from his face, Anakin had been caught just as off-guard as she had.

“Yeah, but now it doesn’t,” he said, blinking. “And, besides, Ahsoka’s still too young for this kind of things. I’m not sending a Padawan in that hell.”

Barriss didn’t give ground. “I’m not leading your men to slaughter for you, General.”

“What?” Anakin leapt to his feet, so fast Ahsoka flinched; tall and lean, he towered upon both of them. The memory of the last time she’d seen Anakin and Barriss in the same room hit Ahsoka so hard she had to stifle a gasp.

“You are wasting time I don’t have – time my _men_ don’t have,” Anakin hissed. “This is not a request, Barriss Offee, this is an order, and you will obey me.”

_Barriss Offee. Member of the Jedi Order… and traitor._

“You are not in a position to give me orders, Anakin,” Barriss said, tilting her head backwards in defiance. Ahsoka had to admire her nerve. “I am a Knight just as you are. We are equals.”

“Very well,” Anakin snarled. “I’ll comm the Council, so you can tell them all this yourself.”

This made Barriss wince. While she’d not been afraid of Anakin – she had no reason to, after all – she was clearly afraid of the Council, of what they would do to her should they decided she had actually fallen. “Please, don’t make me do it.” Her voice was soft again; probably without even realizing it, she pulled her hood tightly around her face, shadowing her features. “I just can’t.”

Anakin looked baffled, and turned to Ahsoka with an inquisitive gaze.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

Ahsoka sighed. This impasse had to be resolved. “Master, please, may I speak with Barriss in private? Just for a moment?”

Anakin eyed her suspiciously. “Why?”

“I… It’s Barriss’ story to tell, Master, not mine. Please.”

Anakin turned his gaze back on Barriss.

“Barriss? What is it?”

Looking like a caged animal, Barriss took another step backwards, colliding against the wall.

“Please, I can’t. I just can’t.” She hid her face in her hands and let her body slide down. “I can’t go down there, I can’t be left alone. I’m… I’m compromised.”

Suddenly, the hilt of Anakin’s lightsaber was in his hand, unlit but angled down towards her. Had he activated it, it would have cut through her heart. Barriss let out a small, panicked yelp.

“You were serving under Krell,” Anakin growled, advancing towards her. “You’re on his plan!”

“No!” Ahsoka and Barriss cried.

“She helped me frame him,” Ahsoka said, reaching out for his arm with her hand.

Barriss was breathing hard, her whole body trembling as she pulled herself up again. “No, it’s not like that, I would never… I _hate_ Pong Krell.” There was venom in her voice; Anakin’s eyes widened, another kind of understanding flashing across his face.

“I can sense it,” he said, looking at her in disbelief. “I can sense your fear and your anger.”

Turning her head sideways so she could avoid looking at them, Barriss nodded, anguish etched on her face. Her shields dropped, and Ahsoka gasped softly; the Force was tangled around her, swirling in a confused mass of pain, fear and doubt.

“Ahsoka knows I had a brush with the Dark Side,” Barriss whispered. “This is why I can’t lead your troops. I don’t trust myself to fight.” She paused, closing her eyes. “I don’t want to fight ever again.”

“What have you done, Barriss?” Anakin’s voice was as tense as the stance of his body; he pushed Ahsoka’s hand aside and shifted closer to her, as if to protect her.

Barriss looked on the verge of tears. “I’ve harbored thoughts unworthy of a Jedi for some time now,” she said. “I’ve been disappointed in the Order, in my Master, in the Republic as a whole. This war goes against everything I’ve been taught, everything I believe in, everything the Jedi should stand for. The only thing I can think about is that I wish for all of this to end.”

Anakin’s face softened; the set of his shoulder relaxed, and he clipped back his saber on his belt.

“If questioning the war was a thing of the Dark Side, half the Order would have turned Sith by now,” he said gently. “Me, Obi-Wan and Master Yoda included, probably.”

“It was I who opened Pong Krell’s holocron…” Barriss went on as if she hadn’t heard him. “A holocron tampered with by means of the Dark Side, and I could open it. This means I am lost.” She hid her face in her hands again, sobs shaking her thin frame.

“I told you already, you are not _lost_ ,” Ahsoka said, throwing a sideways glance to Anakin that meant _trust me_ and drawing near Barriss to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You are fighting darkness, and as long as you are, you’re still in the Light.”

She felt Anakin’s gaze on her and turned her head to meet it: he was looking at her with a strange expression on his face. Something she did not fully comprehend passed between them, something like recognition, a silent understanding.

“Ahsoka is right,” he said at last. “You’re not the first Jedi tempted by the Dark Side.” He swallowed, looking away again. “It’s a good thing you are able to face your struggle.”

“I didn’t face it, I almost surrendered to it,” Barriss protested. “I was angry, I felt lost… I started thinking about… _things._ Things no Jedi should think about.”

Anakin nodded. “I do understand, Barriss.” He closed his eyes briefly, then flashed Ahsoka a look she could only interpret as apologetic. “I know what it means to struggle with fear, with anger… With hate,” he said, a shamed flush coloring his neck. “If you need to, we can talk about it more after this battle is won... I’m not sure that’s something Luminara can help you with. Really help you, I mean. I know she means well, but… Well, we both know her.”

There was affection in his words, and Ahsoka once again found herself wondering what could have happened to make Anakin turn on the Jedi. She knew of his difficult relationship with some members of the Order, of the Council especially, and of course she had her own reservations about some of their choices, but it was clear he loved the Order – loved being a Jedi, just as she had.

“I… Maybe. Yes, I’d like to. Thank you, Anakin,” Barriss said, the ghost of a smile blooming on her lips.

Ahsoka hid her own smile; this was definitely an unforeseen development, one that could mean so much for two of the people dearest to her, but there was a battle going on below them, a battle in which other friends were risking their lives.

“I’ll lead the 501st,” she said, squeezing Barriss’ shoulder. “You can stay here in charge of the squadrons.”

Anakin opened his mouth to protest, but Ahsoka already knew that, deep down, he would never impose his will on Barriss in such circumstances; besides, he cared for his men dearly, and he wouldn’t feel safe leaving them with someone as scarred and unbalanced as she clearly was, but Barriss spoke before he could.

“No, I will do it,” she said.

Ahsoka blinked. “Are you sure? What… what made you change your mind?”

“Your Master is right.” She rose to her feet, wiping away her tears with her sleeve. “I can’t stay here while you put yourself in danger to shield me from my own fears.” She offered her a tentative smile. “But I thank you for your offer. I really do.”

“I am the first not wanting Ahsoka down there, but I don’t think you should go in this condition,” Anakin said.

“I am sworn to protect those in need, and right now they need me, and Ahsoka needs me,” Barriss replied. “I am not going to break my vows.”

Anakin nodded tersely, looking decidedly unhappy.

“I must prepare. I’ll need my squadron to escort the gunship past the blockade,” Barriss said, a new determination shining in her reddened eyes. “I’m going to keep you men safe, Anakin. When we come back, I’m going to tell the Council I’m not fighting anymore.”

“Are you sure you feel up to it?” Anakin asked again, still looking uncertain.

“Yes.” Barriss smiled. “I am grateful for you concern. For everything.”

“Take your starfighter,” Anakin advised. “The gunship is too slow. If you leave immediately they will probably let you pass, their guns must still be heated and we blew up a few fighters.”

Barriss nodded. “May the Force be with you, Anakin. Ahsoka.”

“And with you,” they replied in unison as she left for the hangar. “Be careful,” Ahsoka added, worried.

“You too.”

As soon as she had left, Ahsoka turned to face Anakin, who still looked conflicted.

“Are you sure she’s up to this?”

Anakin turned his gaze to meet hers. “How can I know?”

“You said you know a little of the struggles she’s facing.” Ahsoka was fully aware of how much such an admission must have cost him, but she pressed on nonetheless. “This change of heart… It seemed very sudden. But I could feel she was sincere.”

Anakin sighed tiredly. He didn’t just look exhausted: he looked also tremendously young.

He _was_ tremendously young.

“This kind of things… they are sudden,” he said, slowly, his gaze lost in some distant memory. “Sometimes something snaps, you know, when you’re angry, or when you’re afraid… and sometimes it all just snaps back, you know, like when you find the right combination for a lightsaber hilt. One moment it was all falling apart, and a moment after all the pieces fit perfectly.”

It was then that Ahsoka realized how actually little she knew of her Master.

“Did it happen to you?” She was afraid to know the answer, but she had to ask.

“Something like that, yeah,” he said. A shadow passed on his face; a nerve on his forehead twitched. “When… When my mum died, I was… Well, I didn’t take it well.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I was angry… But Senator Amidala was there to help me, and then I had to run to Geonosis to save Obi-Wan’s neck, and the pieces snapped back into place. It happens. Sometimes.”

Only that sometimes they didn’t, and Ahsoka knew that all too well, but this was not the time. This conversation in itself was a huge step forward.

“Thank you, Master. I know it must have been hard for you, admitting to your struggles in front of me.”

Anakin nodded, avoiding her gaze. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“I’ve always know,” she said gently, drawing nearer until she could close her fingers around his clenched fist. When his hand opened, she slid her fingers to join his. “I’ve known since that time on Tatooine.”

“Old sins cast long shadows,” Anakin said, then shivered; it was what she had said on that first mission together as Master and Padawan. “And you still trusted me?”

Ahsoka smiled. “Of course I did. And I was right. I’m really grateful for what you did for Barriss. Even if a bit surprised. You’re not one to talk about these things so openly.”

Anakin frowned slightly. “I… No, you’re right, I’m not. I’m surprised too. It’s just… It’s something Obi-Wan said. He said he would be there if I needed someone to talk to. I… Barriss needed to, and I was there, and it just seemed the right thing to do. Luminara is a good Master – she’s _too_ good, that’s her problem, she’s tough and clever, and so cool, so detached. I was about to punch her in the face back on Geonosis... I knew she was as terrified as I was, but she just looked so _calm_ , it was driving me insane. I know she’s more your friend than mine, but Barriss and I sort of grew up together, we’re about the same age, we took classes together as Padawans. I don’t want anything bad to happen to her. She feels a lot, but she’s almost as bad as Obi-Wan for how closeted she is.”

“It’s not like you talk about your feelings, either,” Ahsoka couldn’t help noticing.

“No,” Anakin agreed, a half smile forming on his lips. “No, but at least I don’t go all over myself to hide them as they do.”

Ahsoka laughed. “No, you definitely don’t.” Her hand was still in his. “Thank you for trusting her.”

“Thank you for trusting me,” Anakin said, his voice a little uncertain, then he pulled her in a short, rough embrace. “I really have to go,” he said after a moment, pulling away and reverting to his battle-ready stance. “The hyper-ring must be almost ready by now. Keep an eye on your friend and see that you return to Coruscant in one piece.”

 

 

* * *

 

Anakin had not been gone for an hour and Ahsoka was taking a much-needed nap when, out of the blue, the Separatists launched a full-frontal assault on the Republic flotilla. Alarm klaxons blared deafening in the corridors, and the thumping noise of the armored clones’ boots on the durasteel floor of the star-Destroyer seemed to rhythm with the pounding of Ahsoka’s heart as she ran from her cabin towards the starboard bridge.

“What is happening, Admiral?” she asked as she darted towards the wide holodisplay showing the two fleets. A swarm of small dots was coming in their scanners range from the planet’s side.

“They’re receiving reinforcements from the planet,” she answered her own question. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

Yularen, who clearly had already surmised that much, nodded.

“Not that we’re aware of,” he agreed, crisp as always.

Ahsoka was suddenly hit by the fact that the man had been one of the Empire’s highest ranking officers. She could not really brand him as a traitor, even though the fact that he’d remained loyal to the new regime even as the list of atrocities committed in the name of the Emperor grew longer and longer still hurt her. Evil had found a fertile soil in a galaxy in which greed and personal convenience had become more important that moral integrity on such a scale.

“Those ships have specs we’ve never seen before.” Yularen’s voice brought her back to the present. “Our techs have no idea what they might try to accomplish, but the endgame is clear: they want us out of the system. We have to be wary, Commander, and I need you and your men out there now.”

“Of course, Admiral.” She studied the holodisplay for a moment. “Green Squadron will protect the _Negotiator_. I’ll deal with those Umbaran crafts.”

“We can’t lose our forces in pointless attacks on the Separatist blockade,” Yularen warned her, probably still mindful of how many men her recklessness had killed over Ryloth in the first months of her apprenticeship.

“I’m well aware of that, Admiral,” she replied with a curt nod, then strode towards the turbolifts that connected the bridge with the hangar, her fingers already tapping her wrist commlink.

“Caleb? It’s Ahsoka.”

The turbolift stopped in mid-descent to let in a dozen of clones who, just like her, had been roused from their rest by the alarms.

_“Ahsoka, thanks the Force, I was about to comm you. What are we going to do?”_

The boy, now stationed on the _Negotiator_ , had been exceedingly brave in the first assault on Umbara, but this unanticipated skirmish would be a challenge for someone so young and inexperienced. Ahsoka remembered all too well her own failure. She saw some of the men raising inquisitive eyebrows in her direction, but a single glare from her put them back in a more appropriate demeanor.

“We are going to blow them out of the sky,” she said, eliciting a few snorts of approval. “Follow the fighting patterns you have learnt at the Temple and leave to me and my men the more fancy maneuvers. They are going to force us to leave the system. Your objective is to protect the _Negotiator_ in the rear, while I and my men will take care of the _Unbent_ and the _Resolute_. We cannot afford to attack their fleet, we don’t have the numbers. We only have to hold our ground and resist until the planet is secure. When in doubt on what to do, ask your second in command or, if you need a larger view on the battle, comm Admiral Block.”

 _“Ok. I’ll do that. Thank you, Ahsoka.”_ He seemed relieved, even if only slightly.

Ahsoka smiled, her thoughts drifting to a brave young man who had tried – and succeeded – to live as Jedi in the most difficult times the Order had ever faced since the first purge after the Jedi Civil War. She knew that, wherever he was, _if_ he still was somewhere, Kanan Jarrus would live to be a great Jedi. “Just remember your training. May the Force be with you, Caleb.”

_“May the Force be with you too.”_

One of the clones – Blue Five, a man named Skip she’d spoken with only a couple of times outside of squad chatter – smiled at her. “So we’re gonna do the dirty work for him, aren’t we, Commander?”

Ahsoka grinned back. She had missed the clones just as much as she had missed the Jedi.

“We are, Skip. We’ll make those seppies remember what the GAR is made of.”

The men cheered until the turbolift stopped; as soon as its doors were open they had become once again the impassive soldiers Ahsoka remembered.

In a frenzied order they rushed to man their fighters and their bombers, and in less than fifty seconds her whole squadron was following her out of the shielded hangar, soaring amidst the bursts of laserfire.

“Men, form up behind me.”

Tightly grouped in defensive formation, Blue Squadron darted to intercept the first incoming wave of _hyena_ and _vulture_ droids. The alien Umbaran spacecraft were still behind the Separatists’ lines; they would have all the time to deal with the droid first before the first wave of unknown fighters arrived.

 

* * *

 

When the Umbaran spacecrafts came in firing range of the Republic ships, actually firing on them became the last of Ahsoka’s concerns, because right in that moment a buzz of static filled her cockpit and the panicked stupor of her men filled the Force.

“What is this new devilry?” she groaned, her fingers fumbling with her comm console.

_“-omms … down,”_

_“… all our …”_

_“… range…”_

Pieces of words were all she could get before the channel went completely dead, forcing her to turn the comm off to stop the buzzing noise that had taken the place of her men’s voices.

It must have been short range jammers, one mounted on each Umbaran ship. They would not be as powerful or as efficient as a single jammer on a capital ship, but their sheer number would keep the Republic fighters deaf long enough for the Umbarans to accomplish whatever they had come to accomplish.

It was highly likely that, without Pong Krell hijacking the Republic effort planetside, Obi-Wan, Saesee Tiin and first Anakin and now Barriss had managed to fare better than last time around. This could well be a desperate attempt on the Umbarans’ part to cut out the GAR’s victorious ground troops from their fleet.

The swarm of Umbaran spaceships, which had flown in a compact formation up until that moment, dissolved all of a sudden as every single craft sprinted along a divergent trajectory, like fireworks exploding in all directions from a single, central blast.

“No,” Ahsoka growled under her breath. She tapped again her console.

“They’re going for the capital ships. They’re going for the capital ships,” she cried into the dead comm system. Knowing that it was unlikely that her voice was coming through, but trusting her men to be able to figure out on their own what was happening, Ahsoka dived to follow the enemy ship closest to her. A glance on her scanners reassured her, albeit slightly: for now fewer vessels were headed towards the _Negotiator_ , and probably by now Admiral Block had already understood what had happened to Blue and Yellow Squadrons’ comms and had alerted Caleb about it.

Focusing back on the present moment, Ahsoka pressed her fingers on the trigger, firing without quarters. The unerring precision of a Jedi didn’t fail her, but when the Umbaran ship burst into flame a deep weight settled in her gut: the small craft had been manned by a local, not by droids, and she could still feel the man’s death echoing in the Force.

Closing her eyes, she did what she had to do, her fingers steady on the trigger, her heart hating what she was doing more with every passing moment.

She had most definitely not missed the all-out war.

 

* * *

 

 

It soon became clear what the Umbarans were up to. Their forces were made up of three different kinds of small starships: regular starfighters (as long as any of their vessels could actually be considered “regular”, since their shapes and specs were completely different from anything else currently employed in the galaxy), which resembled a x-shaped stool with a bubble in front, accompanied by long, tubular vessels whose function was still unknown and a multitude of smaller, v-shaped crafts which, weren’t it for the fact that they were each manned by a single pilot, Ahsoka would have interpreted as boarding crafts. Apparently, their only use was to punch holes in the Star-Destroyers hulls instead.

It had soon become clear that the Umbaran’s objective was to breach the Republic ships’ hulls enough to cause an overload of their life support systems, so that they’d be forced to jump to hyperspace to get the necessary repairs. It was a rarely employed tactic, but Ahsoka remembered it had been used effectively at some point during the Clone Wars against Kit Fisto’s flagship above Sulluust.

She didn’t remember if that had already happened now, but, by the look of it, it probably had: the fleet had understood what was going on. The Star-Destroyers had lowered their fire rates to a minimum, employing only the lower, less powerful laser cannons, and at a very low firing rate: all the power must have been re-routed to the external shields and the life support systems. This, of course, meant that the ships would hold on for longer, but that the responsibility of destroying the Umbaran fighters fell solely on Ahsoka and her men.

From that moment on, the battle became a blur of diving, veering, firing, firing, firing, fingers clenched around the yoke and the trigger, cold sweat running down her lekku and over her closed eyes, all her senses drawn into the Force, focused only on firing, dodging, firing, firing, firing and trying to remain deaf to the Force screaming with the death of so many, clones and Umbarans alike. Many, too many of those deaths were Ahsoka’s own doing.

She had no idea for how long the battle went on. At some point, when she felt like she’d been fighting in that cockpit for an entire day, a subtle ripple in the Force, something that meant _immediate danger is over_ but carried a ominous foreboding, made her eyes snap open.

In that moment, according to some signal that must have come through an unscrambled frequency, the Umbaran vessels rose like flies from the beaten carcasses of the Star-Destroyers, heading at full speed back towards the planet.

This didn’t make any sense, _again_. Why retire before the battle had either been won or lost? There was no draw in war.

No one pursued the Umbarans, and as soon as they were far enough, the squadron chatter buzzed back to life. The men were cheering, but their voices were somewhat subdued. They couldn’t understand what was going on either.

“Men, back to the hangars, immediately,” she ordered, before frantically switching to the fleet frequency. “Admiral, status report.”

_“Commander Tano, what’s going on?”_

“I don’t know – Admiral, I asked for a status report.”

_“Several hull breaches, life support system going at 60 percent power – nothing that can’t be repaired in a few hours. We don’t need to jump back to Zeltron. This doesn’t make any sense.”_

Another voice joined in, Admiral Block from the _Negotiator_.

_“It was all a ruse,” he spat, his anger evident in his tone. “Those worm-like ships were the true boarding crafts. A single boarding party. They got Krell out.”_

Ahsoka swore loudly, punching her console in frustration and rage. “How is that possible? The brig was well guarded!”

_“They opened their way with some kind of venomous insect – they bit the men on guard before the Umbarans arrived. No alarm sounded, no shots going off. When we realized what was going on, it was already too late.”_

“Blast it. Reroute my signal planetside, I need to alert General Offee. Krell will be coming for her.”

_“We can’t, ma’am. Our transmissions have been jammed since the beginning of the attack. The blockade is still jamming all our transmission.”_

“I’ll go myself then,” she said, then cut the transmission off before anyone could try talking her out of it. Swallowing back her fear and, above all, the guilt she felt in leaving Caleb alone to lead the squadrons without even having the time to tell him what to do, she set course for the planet, diving in an arched trajectory meant to keep her as far as she could from the Separatist blockade. She could only hope that, in the immediate aftermath of the battle, with still smoldering debris spread over hundreds of kilometers clogging the scanners, a single lone fighter would manage to pass through unnoticed.

As anticipated, no one pursued Ahsoka in her descent towards the planet, as her fighter darted through the eerie battlefield, a silent graveyard of fragmented starships enveloped in the slow burning blue flames of space hiding her from enemy eyes, and then down through Umbara’s murky atmosphere until it got lost in the dark mist that surrounded the planet.

While a small part of her was trying to believe that this almost unbelievable luck was actually due to the lack of attention paid to their scanners by the Separatists in the direct aftermath of the firefight, rationally she knew that, just like it had happened with Anakin, it was possible they were just letting her pass because the planet was where they wanted her to be.

Once she had come near enough the coordinates of the last known position of the 501st, it wasn’t difficult for her to follow the trail of destruction left by the fighting towards their current position, which happened to be a huge air base on the east side of the planet Capitol.

The city itself loomed in the distance, its northern side hidden in a shroud of smoke painted in red and blue by the barrage of blasterfire, only occasionally lightened by explosions so powerful she could see the luminescent vegetation shaken as the energy waves rippled the blast radius for dozens of kilometers. Obi-Wan and Saesee Tiin were mounting an unrelenting siege on the city. Good sense and the Force, though, told her that where she needed to be was with Barriss: the air base had been Krell’s objective since the beginning, and Barriss alone was no match for him.

She was five clicks short of the base when the voice of a clone hailed her. _“Incoming Aethersprite, identify yourself.”_

“Commander Ahsoka Tano here. Sending identification code right now. Can I land inside the base?”

_“Identification code accepted. Welcome, Commander. Relaying approach trajectory for the closest available landing bay.”_

“Standing by. And get me General Offee. I need to speak with her as soon as I land.”

 

* * *

 

“The most important thing is to secure that blasted secret vault. He’ll be coming for the bioweapons, and I don’t think we have the time nor the technology to safely dispose of them before he arrives,” Ahsoka said, her hands gripping tightly the holodisplay that projected the layout of the base, casting its eerie blue light on Rex’, Fives’ and Barriss’ faces.

On all four sides, the base was surrounded by local wild vegetation, which would make seeing the enemy arrive more difficult: their scanners, of course, had been jammed and were currently non-functional. Inside the wide circular perimeter of the base, the main structure was the tall building they were currently in, a strange tower shaped like some sort of slug with its long neck protruding towards the dark sky; around it, set in a circle at regular distance, were the barracks and the hangars.

“How do you plan we do that?” Barriss asked. Her mouth was drawn in a determined line, but her eyes betrayed her anxiety.

“We stand and fight,” Ahsoka said simply. “We don’t have much choice. Until our techs restore the comm system – and I don’t see that happening anytime soon – we’re on our own. We can use some flares, but Obi-Wan and Master Tiin have their own share of trouble to take care of. Look here, the factory is nothing more than a small underground room, and the only access is from here,” she noted, pointing to a small corridor that departed towards the south from the basement of the main building and led to a small complex of rooms. “The vaults are right beyond the lab main room. Krell’s not going to use the bio-bolts on us – regular warfare is still more effective in the short term; he needs them to decimate the Umbarans, and he needs our cannons to do that and put the blame the Republic.”

“They can’t do that anymore,” Barriss pointed out. “We know of Dooku’s plan. We have proof. He will not get away with that.”

Ahsoka shook her head. “We have a holocron, and only a Jedi can tell if one has been tampered with. No Separatist will accept a holocron as a proof. A lot of people in the Republic wouldn’t either,” she added bitterly. The anti-Jedi sentiment was increasingly rising among the populace.

“No, they wouldn’t,” Barriss agreed. Well, of course she knew.

“That’s no good,” Rex observed. “Why are the Separatists always one step ahead of us?”

“Because they’re playing dirty, Captain. Anyway, I don’t want to need to prove we didn’t use bioweapons on the locals. Those weapons will _not_ be used,” Ahsoka said. “Krell will have to go for the weapons on his own or with a very small squad; he can’t let the Umbarans suspect what he’s up to. And when he comes… I’ll be right there to give him a welcome party.”

“Commander Tano, with all due respect… Are you sure of this? Pong Krell is a… tough opponent.”

“He’s thrice your size,” Fives noted, more accurately than Rex had in his deferential understatement. “And he has four arms and two double lightsabers. He’s some kind of non-robotic Grievous.”

Well, _that_ was a good description. “I know.”

“I’ll be there with you, Ahsoka,” Barriss said, her hand sliding unconsciously towards the lightsaber clipped at her belt.

“No.” Ahsoka shook her head. “You have to help the men above ground and coordinate the airbase defense.”

“You can’t take him alone, Commander,” Rex said. “Don’t overestimate your abilities. General Skywalker will have my hide if I let anything happen to you.”

What Anakin would have said of her plan was something Ahsoka had tried not to think about for the past two hours. Or Obi-Wan, for that matter. At least, if she died, some part of the knowledge she had brought back from the future would live with the him. The thought hit her that, perhaps, she should stop being so cavalier with her own life until she’d entrusted all her knowledge to someone else.

_It’s quite late to think about that now, Tano._

Ahsoka was objective enough to admit she could give a run with her lightsabers to most Knights in the Order; she had been good already as a teen – after all, she had been taught by the two best swordsmen in the Order after Yoda and Mace Windu – and her continuous training during her exile had given its fruits; her performance against the Inquisitors had been proof enough of that. But a Master with the abilities and the raw strength of Pong Krell was another thing entirely.

“Believe me, Captain, I know. None of us is skilled enough to take down Pong Krell. I’ve seen him fight in the Temple; the only Jedi on planet who could best him is Master Kenobi, I doubt even Master Tiin would stand a chance. But while he’s huge, I’m small and agile, and I’m good at Jar’Kai – double wielding,” she explained to Fives’ blank stare.

“I’m good at Jar’Kai too,” Barriss pointed out. After their first meeting, they had trained together every time they were both on Coruscant.

“Yes, but you don’t have a _shoto_.”

“Oh. Right.”

“My second blade gives me a better chance at defending myself, and my small size can be put to use in a confined space –”

“Like the corridor that leads to the lab,” Rex finished for her, half-amused and half-dismayed. “The General would be proud… but he would tell you to stay back.”

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. “I know, but right now he’s not here, and between Barriss and me I’m the one with the best chance of defeating Krell, so it’ll have to be me,” she said in a tone that did not admit a rebuttal.

Rex, good soldier that he was, understood. “Commander, you don’t have to do this alone,” he said nonetheless. “I’ll come with you, with my best men. I will order you to take me along if I must,” he added with a crooked smile.

Ahsoka had to fight back tears; Rex was the only person from her future she hadn’t wanted to leave, and she missed him terribly even as he stood right before her eyes. “You won’t need to, Captain. I’m not leaving you behind.”

 

* * *

 

An explosion shook the ground; fragments of plaster fell from the cracked ceiling of the tunnel, showering Ahsoka, Rex and the men they had brought with them – Fives, Hardcase and Tup – in dust. Ahsoka had long since given up trying to keep the dust at bay with the Force; the explosions were so frequent it would only tire her unduly. It was better to keep her reserves to check whether the ceiling would hold. Dying crushed by a collapsing tunnel was not how she wanted to end her life.

The Umbarans, now led by Krell, had begun their attack on the airbase about forty minutes before.

At first, Ahsoka and the men could only make out the distinctive noise of blasterfire coming from the south, but it hadn’t been long before the blasts had started drawing nearer; the attackers had probably already broken the outer perimeter. The battle was now being fought in the sky as well, clones against locals all manning the alien Umbaran fighters.

The noise of laserfire echoed in the underground tunnel where they were waiting for Krell, a long corridor that stretched for four hundred meters below ground, with fire-doors a regular intervals. They were now stationed in the segment closer to the bioweapons workshop, a deceptively unassuming lab not different from those found in universities and small research centers all across the galaxy. On the far side of the lab, a round pressurized door gave access to the vault.

It wouldn’t be long before the battle spread across the airbase, taking the fighting into the hangars and the barracks, and Ahsoka was sure that Krell would take immediate advantage of the chaos and go for the vault before the Umbarans could miss him. Ahsoka, the four troopers and the plasteel fire door of the laboratory were all that now stood between the Umbarans and their own destruction, one they had unwittingly manufactured themselves.

Letting her consciousness reach out for a moment to gauge the battle’s outcome, Ahsoka became immediately aware of Barriss’ growing weariness. The sensation was pulling at her, increasing her unrest; she knew that her friend could very well be the next one to join the always growing number of souls snuffed out of life by enemy fire, and there was nothing she could do about it. Another small flame almost outside her reach told her that Obi-Wan was still alive as well; she could sense he was already past his breaking point and was pushing on through the battle fuelled only by the Force and his own iron will. Their comm system was still down, so they had reverted to old-fashioned signal flares; she could only hope he’d gotten the message and was running to their aid.

“I don’t like hiding down here like a blasted womp rat,” Hardcase said, breaking the uneasy silence. Ahsoka turned towards him only to see him absently caressing with the tenderness of a lover the barrel of his z-6.

“I’m not happy either, but Krell will come for us, don’t worry about that. Even though I would ask you not to use that _thing_ against him in here,” she added, gesturing towards the rotary cannon. The idea of what Krell’s two saberstaffs could do with the bolts of a machine-gun was terrifying.

Hardcase grinned. “Not to worry, Ma’am. Plenty of use for this baby up there after we’ve dealt with the traitor.”

Rex took a step towards her, his arms crossed on his chest. “You really think he’ll be coming alone?”

“Alone, or with only a few men. Perhaps he’s swayed a few soldiers of the less important families in the warrior caste, but it can’t possibly be more than a handful of people; he wouldn’t want news of what he’s up to get out of here. I think he will come for the weapons with a small squad, and then have the men killed – if we don’t kill them first, doing his dirty work for him.”

“Kill his own men?” Tup, who was leaning against the door of the lab, shook his head in disbelief. “Ma’am, Krell can be a traitor, but he’s still a Jedi, isn’t he?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” she said cautiously. Once, he had not hesitated in trying to get them all killed. The idea of having him loose among her men once again made her stomach clench.

“Had the Commander not caught him, he would have betrayed us to the enemy,” Fives pointed out, his hands lazily resting on the blasters holstered at his hips. “At least now we know he’s a traitor. He can’t pull his tricks on us.”

“I almost feel sorry for these poor Umbaran bastards,” Hardcase said. “That’s some nasty backstabbing he’s planning to do.”

“I still can’t believe a Jedi could do this,” Tup said, frowning. “It doesn’t sound right.”

“One of our brothers betrayed us to Ventress, once,” Rex observed. “Slick, on Christophsis. Before you came along, Commander.”

“Yeah, I remember. Anakin told me.” Ahsoka got to her feet and started pacing the corridor. The wait was really starting to get to her nerves, but she knew they wouldn’t have to wait much longer. Krell’s dark presence was getting near, his malicious intents no longer hidden in the Force; she could sense the trail of death he was leaving behind, a bloody slash across the air base. Barriss’ horror filled her heart, pounding in her ears and forcing her to hastily drop out of the light trance; she couldn’t afford being overwhelmed.

“Krell has never been a very good Jedi to begin with,” she said, acting as if nothing had happened. “He’s notorious for his harsh methods… and his monstrous casualty rates.”

Tup nodded; a strand of dark hair escaped is tight bun, and he pulled it behind his ear. “Yeah. We’ve heard the rumors. I suppose it’s just that we’re lucky to be serving under General Skywalker. He is _the_ Jedi for us, Commander. I’ve always assumed you lot were all like him – like you, or General Kenobi. All good people, all brave soldiers. The idea that one of you could betray us… the idea that we will have to try and kill one of you…” he shivered. “It’s like a nightmare.”

The irony in what Tup had just said was, in hindsight, so morbid that Ahsoka decided it was better if she stopped thinking at all, because all she could think about was the fact that, except Rex, all the men now with her had died before the 501st became _Vader’s Fist_ and that this, probably made them the lucky ones.

“Dooku was a Jedi once, too,” Hardcase said. “I’ve no qualms about killing the guy.”

“Of course not. But that’s different,” Tup replied. “That was before we were even born. Krell fought with us. Blast, Krell was our brothers’ general. And he was planning to betray us all along.”

The Force screamed in warning, and before she could even think Ahsoka was on her feet, lightsabers hilts in her hands. Behind her, only a fraction of a second slower than she had been, her men drew their weapons. The door at the far end of the corridor slid open; the room behind it was dark, and they could only make out the silhouettes of their attackers. One of them, though, was unmistakable.

“And you would have fallen for it,” Pong Krell said, his deep voice echoing from the far end of the corridor, mocking the men who could not yet see him. “Because you are no better than mindless battle droids, none of you, clones and Jedi alike.”

Four lines of light, two blue and two green, erupted in from either side of his saberstaffs, casting their light on his menacing figure as he slowly advanced. A small detail of a dozen Umbaran soldiers was walking before him, their blasters trained on Ahsoka and her men.

“ _You_ ,” Tup spat.

Ahsoka lowered her hands in a non aggressive position. “How comes, then, that you were the one getting caught?”

“Oh. I should have expected this, Skywalker’s meddling brat,” Krell said, his eyes narrowing down to slits, his yellow irises shining in the darkness with a Sithly light. “It is you I have to blame for this debacle. Now step aside, youngling, and let the grown ups do their job.”

If this was the best he could do in provoking the enemy, he had a long way to go. “How does it feel, _Master Krell_ , to be undermined by a Padawan?”

Behind her, Ahsoka heard Rex groan.

“Please, Commander, _don’t_ anger him,” he growled.

“It will feel good by the end of the day, I assure you,” Krell said, baring his teeth in a feral smile. “Count Dooku will reward me handsomely when I bring you his head. He is personally invested in your Master’s suffering.”

Of course he was. Ahsoka bit back the snide retort that had come to her lips: technically, Anakin hadn’t killed the Count yet, so she couldn’t really use that as a taunt. Too bad.

“We’ll see about that,” she merely said, twin columns of white plasma coming to life from the hilts in her hands. She slid comfortably in her favorite opening stance, both saber angled parallel to the floor, her main before her and the shoto behind the line of her back.

Krell said something to the Umbarans in their tongue before stepping back and retreating behind their advancing line; as soon as he was safely behind them, they opened fire. Rex and his men responded in kind, and the small corridor was enveloped in a thick cloud of dust as stray bolts scraped the plastered walls and ceiling.

“Coward,” Ahsoka spat, her sabers swirling in luminous circles among the grey dust to parry the plasma bolts fired by the Umbarans; nausea made the mouth of her stomach clench as she realized she couldn’t afford letting the bolts bounce harmlessly off her sabers against the walls, not now that her men’s lives were at stake. She had to go for killing strikes.

“There is no bravery in dying for the unworthy,” Krell taunted her, his voice thunderous above the noise of blasterfire and the clones’ battle cries. “The Force has given us power over these lesser creatures. The cowards are those like you, those who deny our rightful place in the balance of things. The place of _rulers_.”

A stray bolt fired by one of her men bounced off Krell’s blue saberstaff, crossing the corridor back towards them. Ahsoka dived sideways to parry it, while with her shoto she sent a plasma bolt back at one of the Umbarans. The man fell without a sound, his death a sick twist in the Force.

“We’re no lesser creatures,” one of the men growled; she couldn’t make out their voices among the clamor, but she was quite sure it was Fives.

“You’ve been bred in a laboratory, you are nothing more than droids covered in flesh.”

Anger uncoiled in the pit of her stomach, hot and white as her blades; she briefly thought that was somehow ironic, for a woman who had refused to leave _Darth Vader_. Fighting back the acrid bile raising in her throat, she dived to her right to parry another volley of bolts; one of the Umbarans tried to take advantage of her exposed left side and darted towards her in a daring move, his blaster leveled at her chest. She plunged and her main saber shot clean across his chest, leaving a fuming trail as the man collapsed over his dead comrade.

 _There is no death, there is no death, there is no death_ , Ahsoka tried to tell herself as she swung sideways to catch a bolt that would have hit Hardcase in the chest; he had not yet opened his mouth to thank her when another bolt darted behind her guard; a cry told Ahsoka one of her men had been hit – _Tup, that was Tup_ – and she sensed him staggering back against the wall and sliding along it; thankfully, the Force told her it was just a graze. She felt Fives shifting behind her to cover his brother; now sitting on the floor instead of standing, Tup never stopped firing.

Tup’s wound was only a graze; what cut deep was Krell’s mad laughter.

Darth Vader, at least, had never laughed, nor during their fight on Mustafar nor in the many holorecordings she had seen of the slaughters he had perpetrated in the name of the Emperor. Krell’s taunting laughter seemed to drown out any other sound as her blades slashed trough living flesh.

Unable to bear it anymore, knowing that even with Tup wounded her men were more than capable to take care of the remaining Umbarans, Ahsoka leapt, taking down two more enemies as she somersaulted above them, landing in a roll under Pong Krell’s saberstaffs, her own blades darting upwards to meet his in a sizzle of plasma.

Rationally, Ahsoka knew she should have tried to roll past him, so that after her men had finished dealing with the Umbarans he would be caught in a crossfire between them, but she didn’t dare leave her men unprotected. Tough as they were, they had no chance against Krell in such an environment. So Ahsoka rolled back and leapt to her feet, her back exposed to the firefight, and dove into the duel holding on to dear life.

Darth Vader had towered upon her adult body; Pong Krell exceeded Vader’s height of more than a full foot, and Ahsoka had reverted to an height still far from the one she’d reached with her last growth spur. Physically, there was no match, but she had held her own against Vader, even if only for a few minutes; she hoped she would be able to do the same against Pong Krell.

As she had anticipated, it was the combination of her second blade and the confined space what permitted her to survive the first minutes of their duel. The narrow corridor forced Krell to employ a limited selection of forward thrusts and vertical slashes, preventing him from taking full advantage of the reach of his weapons in diagonal and horizontal strikes. His restricted range of moves became soon enough a predictable pattern, one that Ahsoka could anticipate with her parries and counterstrikes. The length of Krell’s blades, though, gave her little to no room for a sound hit.

Besides, his raw strength became soon to wear Ahsoka down, too soon, sooner than she had anticipated, probably because the cacophony of hundreds of almost identical minds clouded her perception, and the commotion she could sense in the Force hindered her focus; she was no longer used to this kind of bloodshed, while Krell was without doubt leeching from all the pain and the fear to feed his power.

“After I’m done with you, I’ll go after that Mirialan witch,” he said, thrusting both his sabers forward and closing them where her waist should have been in a pincer move; Ahsoka dropped to the floor, arching her back as her blades shot in a diagonal slash aimed at two of Krell’s four wrists. He caught both her blades with his green staff, while the other came barreling down on her. She kicked his wrist aside, using the momentum to get back to her feet with a backflip, and screamed as the blue blade singed her right _lek_. She lost her drive and tumbled down on the hard floor, the smell of burnt flesh filling her nostrils; she suppressed the urge to throw up.

“Master Kenobi will be here soon,” she spat, trying to catch her breath; the impact on the floor had kicked it out of her. “You won’t get your traitorous hands on either of us.” It was only partially true. While she could now definitely sense Obi-Wan’s bright sapphire flame drawing near, almost in reach of Barriss, Ahsoka was quite certain he would not make it in time for her.

She could only hope in a miracle that would keep her men from harm.

Her men, her brave men who had heard her screaming and were now alternating between firing at the remaining Umbarans and directly at Krell. The Besalisk’s sabers spun faster and faster as he tried to parry the barrage of bolts and send them back at Ahsoka, who was defending herself madly, still crouched on the floor, her wounded _lek_ throbbing painfully against her shoulder.

“Stop firing on him,” she yelled, her sabers spinning in a blinding flash of white light to catch all the rebounding bolts; but Krell was – _had been_ – a Jedi Master, and he was strong enough to twist the Force to his will.

In slow motion, Ahsoka saw a stray bolt headed for her head get past her sabers; a hand pulled her down, hard against the floor, then time spun forwards again at a maddened speed and the body to which the hand belonged was hit by the bolt meant for her and fell on her with an agonized cry; Ahsoka had merely the time to power down her _shoto_ before it could cut through the trooper.

“ _Hardcase!_ ” someone screamed; the body was pulled away from Ahsoka and she dragged herself to her feet, her sabers snapping to life once again.

“ _Do not_ fire on him,” she hissed to her men; in the back of her mind she could sense their anger and their fear, but she knew they would comply. They were good soldiers.

“Are you really going to die for _them_?” Krell mocked her, his lightsabers twirling in idle circles at his sides. “You are not worthy of the Force.”

“And you are?” she snarled; she tightened her grip on her sabers to stop her fingers from shaking. “You betrayed your vows, your honor, the men you were sworn to defend, and you did all this not even for an ideal like others did! You betrayed us for your greed and your lust for power!”

“You know nothing of what I have seen, of the future I have foreseen!” Krell shot back. “The Jedi are going to lose this war, and the Republic will be ripped apart from the inside.”

Something caught briefly Ahsoka’s attention, a sense of worry seeping into the Force from Rex and Fives. She could sense that Fives and Rex were still holding Hardcase’s body – _is he still alive? –_ while Tup was struggling to get to his feet. She didn’t know what could be causing the troopers’ unease – the Umbarans were all dead or incapacitated – but she had no time to guess. She could only trust them to alert her of any eventual danger.

“In its place is going to rise a New Order, and I will rule as part of it,” Krell said.

The rage Ahsoka had tried to suppress during the whole fight exploded like a supernova, blinding her; with a supreme act of will, she let it run through her veins and out, back into the Force, where it morphed into crystal-clear determination. Shock flashed on Krell’s face; this was no mean feat for the Padawan he still thought she was.

Breathing hard, her whole body shaking, Ahsoka lifted her head, defiance burning in her eyes.

“Not this time,” she said, then took advantage of her enemy’s surprise and dashed forward, telegraphing the diagonal Ataru blow she was planning with her main blade; Krell’s green blade was there to meet her, but what he hadn’t expected was the downward slash of her shoto, a slash that cut down through the air and through Krell’s lower left arm.

A single shot echoed in the corridor, and Krell’s cry of pain never left his lips. The smoldering hole between his eyes was still smoking when his body hit the floor.

“Good soldiers follow orders,” someone said behind Ahsoka.

Stunned, she turned to thank her savior, and only had the time to think that, actually, she had ordered _not_ to fire on Krell before she found herself looking into the barrel of Tup’s raised blasters. His eyes were blank.

“Kill all Jedi,” he said, and fired.

The last thing Ahsoka saw before darkness closed on her was Tup crumbling to the ground; Rex was standing behind him, his face white with shock, his shaking finger still on the trigger.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! As always, I'm looking forward to hearing your comments and thoughts, here or on [ tumblr](https://livk-dunesea.tumblr.com), where I also post previews and random stuff.


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